Fic: Five Times Dean Didn't Celebrate His Birthday and One Time He Did

[4get_the_fear]

Title: Five Times Dean Didn't Celebrate His Birthday and One Time He Did
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, John, Bobby
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Summary: Basically what the title says. It all takes place pre-series, in Dean's childhood.
Author's Note: This was written for a prompt by brokentoy on spn_rambleon. Enjoy!



The first time Dean Winchester didn’t celebrate his birthday was also the first time he turned a year older without a living mother. Sammy was too young to know it was his big brother’s birthday, and John was still consumed with grief from the loss of his beloved wife. Dean had been secretly counting down the days until his fifth birthday for a couple of weeks now.  As the special day got closer, Dean hoped more and more that his father might mention it. With how John had been behaving lately, Dean was too scared to bring it up himself. His father wasn’t acting like himself, and more and more Dean found himself thinking back to the memories he had of his family living normally. He wanted things to be like they had been before the fire. Before mom had died. Before his father had become a drill sergeant, always training Dean, teaching him things that a four-year-old shouldn’t be worrying about. Things that most people believed to be purely fictional, fairy tales that were told only for entertainment.

On the morning of January 24, Dean woke up like he normally did. Bright sunlight streamed through the window, and if he listened closely he could hear the chirps and calls of various birds. It took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts and realize it was finally his birthday. He smiled broadly, sitting up quickly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Between the fingers on his tiny hands, he could see a figure standing in the doorway. He abruptly lowered his hands, and to his surprise, saw his dad standing there. What really surprised him though was that the man was smiling excitedly, his eyes glowing brighter than they had for months. His dad hadn’t mentioned his birthday once in the days leading up to it, and while Dean wasn’t really expecting him to, he was still disappointed. Seeing his dad, smiling for the first time since his mom’s death, standing in his doorway on the morning of his birthday, brought Dean’s spirits back up immediately.

“Mornin’ son,” John said brightly.

“Good morning, sir,” Dean replied, thoughts about what his father might have planned for him spinning around in the back of his head.

“Guess what?” John asked.

“What?” Dean questioned, barely containing his happiness, completely sure of what his dad must be talking about. He remembered, he remembered, he remembered!

“I got some really good leads on the thing that killed your mother. I’m gonna go investigate, find out what I can. Take care of Sammy, you hear? You leave that boy alone, and I’ll kick your ass, understand? Just stay here, and don’t get into trouble, I’ll be back when I can.” John proceeded to look at Dean expectantly, as if he thought Dean would be jumping for joy over good news about what had taken all of his father’s energy and attention for so long.

Dean was honestly heartbroken. His shoulders slumped, and his entire body sagged with disappointment. But the change in body language was only visible for a second as Dean forced a smile and nodded encouragement to his dad. It was a skill that he had been required to learn in a very short amount of time. John Winchester didn’t exactly approve of anything that had to do with feelings, whether it be sharing them or simply showing them.

“That’s great, sir! Don’t worry about Sammy, I’ll look after him. You just worry about catchin’ that demon.” It was the best acting the five-year-old had to offer, and while it may not have been as convincing if John had taken a second to look his son in the eyes and see the pain that was evident there, the older Winchester bought it instantly.

“All right son, take care.” John exited the room hurriedly, and not soon after, Dean could hear the front door creaking open and then slamming shut. As the engine of the Impala roared to life outside, Dean let a single tear fall down his cheek before wiping his eyes roughly and curling his fingers into his palms, digging hard enough to draw blood. When he was confident he didn’t look like a complete wimp, he went to check on his baby brother, mentally promising himself that no matter what, he’d always celebrate Sammy’s birthday.

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A year later, John isn’t any closer to finding the demon. By now, Dean has fully adjusted to their new life style. He only worries about two things: taking care of Sammy, and helping his dad to track down the demon that murdered his mother. Had John been in a better state of mind at the time, he might’ve worried about the selflessness his son exhibited. About the habit the young boy had seemed to develop over the past year to put his father and brother before himself at all times. But John was on a mission. A mission that would consume both his life and the lives of his sons for a very long time. Certainly longer than he was anticipating on the day that Dean turned six-years-old.

Late in the night of January 24th, John was returning from a hunt. It had taken a lot out of him, and all he wanted to do now was sleep. As he parked the Impala outside of the house, he remembered it was Dean’s birthday. How old was he now? Six?

John hadn’t remembered Dean’s birthday last year until the day after, but at that time he was still investigating the leads he had gotten, and had soon forgotten about it again. Sure, he had felt guilty, but Dean must have understood, right? The boy knew how important it was to find his mom’s killer. All the same, John figured he’d better check in with Dean, make sure he was okay. It was the last thing he wanted to do, especially since he knew how bad he was at all that touchy feely crap.

Slowly, the oldest Winchester dragged himself out of the Impala, and made his way up to the front door. He unlocked it, and was pleased to see that there was a salt line underneath the door. He wasn’t in the mood to punish Dean for forgetting it. He looked up to see the barrel of a gun in his face.

“Whoa!” John cried out, throwing up his hands.

“Oh, sorry, sir!” Dean apologized. He stared at John a second longer to make sure the man who had entered was really his father, then finally, cautiously, the boy lowered the gun.

“Dean, what the hell was that?” John demanded, feeling the beginnings of a severe headache send sharp pains through his head.

“You - you told me to do that whenever I thought someone was at the door…” Dean was confused, and somewhat disappointed that his father was yelling at him instead of giving praise for being so diligent in protecting the house.

John did remember telling Dean something along those lines before he left. In fact he always told his oldest son to do that before he left to go on a hunt. John pinched the bridge of his nose, and made a pained face. He was so tired.

“And you couldn’t see me coming up to the door from the window?” John asked, refusing to be in the wrong.

Dean looked like he was about to argue, but then he simply hung his head and mumbled a “Sorry, sir”.

For a second, John felt a pain in his heart at seeing his son give in to him so quickly. It was like the kid was afraid of him. Maybe he was. John wasn’t an idiot. He knew he’d been a changed man since Mary died. He’d just somehow hoped that it wouldn’t affect his sons so greatly. He sighed heavily.

“Anything happen while I was gone?” he asked roughly.

“Nope,” Dean answered quickly. “Everything was fine.” Dean was itching to ask how his father’s hunt had gone, but he knew better. He knew that look in his dad’s eyes.

“Good. Good…” John trailed off, looking distracted. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

John was looking everywhere but at his son, who was staring at him expectantly. God, where was Mary when you needed her?

“I believe it’s your birthday today…” he finally managed to say, albeit awkwardly.

“Yeah…” Dean looked at him questioningly.

“Well, if I remember right, we didn’t celebrate it last year.”

Dean just stared at him.

John decided to cut to the chase. “Does it bother you that we don’t take much time to acknowledge birthdays in this family anymore?” He was careful to not mention Dean’s birthdays specifically.

Dean was silent for a moment.

“Because I mean we could if you really-‘’

“Dad it’s fine,” Dean cut him off. “I understand we don’t have time for it, and there a ton of other things that are more important right now. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really? You’re sure?” John asked. He was kind of surprised at how easy that had been.

His six-year-old nodded.

“Well, all right. Thanks for understanding son.” He ruffled Dean’s hair and went to check on Sammy.

Dean couldn’t help but notice that his father hadn’t even said happy birthday.

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Three years later, on Dean’s ninth birthday, he stayed out a little later than he was supposed to. He had been trying to watch the time, but he was having a lot of fun with some friends he’d met at school. John had been out on a hunt since yesterday morning, and he had called to tell Dean that he’d be home later that evening. Dean knew Sammy was alone in the house, but he was confident his younger brother would be safe for just a few hours. When Dean finally realized how late it was, he panicked, and quickly told his friends he had to leave. He ran back home as fast as he could, but as the house came into view, so did the black Chevy Impala sitting outside.

“Damn it!” he hissed, the pounding of his heart having nothing to do with his run back home. Fear gripped him as he walked up to the door. It was open. The last thing he wanted to do right now was face his father. But it was all he could do, so slowly, he stepped through the doorway. John was sitting in a chair facing away from the door.

“Come over here. Now.” John growled without looking behind him.

By now, Dean’s heart was about to burst out of his chest, it was beating so fast. While every inch of him screamed to walk in the opposite direction, Dean went over to stand in front of his dad. Part of him was at least calmed when he saw Sammy sleeping peacefully, unharmed in their bedroom. When he got to his father there was silence for a few seconds. And then it started.

“Where the hell were you?” John demanded, his voice rising with every word.

“Out with some friends,” Dean replied quietly.

“Out with some friends?” John scoffed. “Out with some friends…” he repeated, shaking his head disbelievingly, a scary smile on his red face. “So, your friends are more important than watching out for your little brother? Is that it?” John demanded, his voice full of venom.

“No, sir.”

“Then what the hell is it? Huh? I mean come on Dean, you’re only eight-freaking-years-old, you shouldn’t be staying out late like some kind of rebellious carefree teenager!”

“Nine,” Dean blurted before he could stop himself.

“What?” John asked, not understanding. He had just been getting started.

“I’m nine-years-old now.”

John stared at his son, baffled.

“It’s January 24th…” Dean started to say as an explanation.

“I know what day it is!” John snapped. In truth, he had completely forgotten. He hadn’t even made it a priority to remember what today meant because of what Dean had told him three years ago. He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face tiredly.

“Damn it Dean… Just go to bed.”

Dean wasted no time in heading for his room. He went as quickly as he could without making it seem like he was running away.

“And don’t you dare let me find you leaving your brother alone like that again!” John yelled after him.

Dean ignored his father and shut the bedroom door, then threw himself on his bed, breathing heavily, anger and frustration consuming him. He loved his dad, he really did. Sometimes, though, it was just so difficult to get along with the man.

“Dean?” a small voice asked from the other bed in the room.

“You should be sleeping,” Dean grumbled.

“You’re nine now?” Sam asked curiously, ignoring Dean’s comment.

Dean was silent a minute before answering. “Yeah.”

“So today’s your birthday?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t we celebrate it? You always celebrate my birthday.”

“It’s not that important, Sammy.”

“Yes it is! Your birthday is just as important as mine,” the four-year-old insisted.

“Whatever,” Dean replied, and rolled over in bed, annoyed by his brother’s nagging.

“Next time it’s your birthday Dean, we’re gonna have a big party, with cake and presents, and then dad will realize how much fun it is to celebrate someone’s birthday.”

“Okay Sammy,” Dean answered, positive that his little brother would forget about it by tomorrow morning.

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One year later, on the day after Dean’s tenth birthday, the Winchesters found themselves in a hospital room. Sam was lying in bed, with a badly broken arm and a severe concussion. The day before, they were investigating an abandoned home, that the locals had been spreading rumors about for quite some time. When the spirit had appeared, it proved to be violent right away, and it pushed Sam down a flight of stairs. The fall hadn’t been kind to Sam’s body, and they had rushed the youngest Winchester to the hospital as soon as possible, unsure at the time of how badly the boy had been hurt. They all hated hospitals. But it had been an emergency, and they really hadn’t had much choice. Dean and John were sitting in chairs by Sam’s bedside, when a doctor came in and asked if he could speak with John. John gave Dean his ‘stay right here and look after your brother’ look, and then left the room with the doctor. Dean often wondered why his father even bothered to look at him like that anymore. Did he not trust Dean? Did he not, after all these years, think Dean would stay with his brother no matter what?

Dean sighed and rested his head in his hands. He had never wanted Sam to go on the hunt in the first place. He was only five-years-old. It wasn’t his first hunt, but Dean hadn’t been happy about Sam going on any of the hunts before this one either. When he had expressed his concern to his dad, John had replied by pointing out that Dean had started hunting around the same age. Now that Dean was older, John felt more confident about bringing him along more often as backup. The only problem was that it usually meant Sam would have to come, because John couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the boy alone. Usually, Sam would just hold a flashlight or grip Dean’s hand so he wouldn’t fall behind. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to handle a gun. John had been teaching him for quite some time. Sam just wasn’t good enough yet for John to trust him to carry a weapon. When they were lucky, Bobby was able to watch Sam while John and Dean went out on a hunt. But sometimes, that just wasn’t possible.

Dean was brought out of his thoughts by a low moan.

“Sammy?” he asked eagerly. He had been so worried about his little brother. His injuries weren’t necessarily Dean’s fault, but Dean still took the blame. He felt horrible about the whole situation.

“Dean?” Sam croaked.

“I’m here Sammy, I’m here,” Dean assured him, standing up quickly and moving closer to Sam’s bedside.

“Where’s dad?”

“He’s right outside the door, talking to your doctor.” Sam seemed pleased by this news. He knew as well as his older brother that their father didn’t like weakness. Had John been there, Sam would’ve felt like he was doing something wrong, lying there in bed, injured.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked his brother worriedly.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry ‘bout me Sammy.”

Sam smiled and nodded, closing his eyes after he was sure of his family’s safety.

Suddenly, they opened again, and grew wide as he looked back at Dean.

“Dean!”

“What?!” Dean asked, alarmed.

“Your birthday was yesterday! I was gonna surprise you at home after the hunt! God, Dean, I’m so sorry!”

“Sammy, calm down, it’s all right…” Dean tried to reassure his brother, confused at why his sibling was so distressed over something as insignificant as his birthday. Dean himself hadn’t even remembered his birthday was yesterday. He didn’t understand what was so important about turning a year older.

“No, Dean, you don’t understand, I told you I’d celebrate your next birthday, and now I’ve missed it!” The five-year-old looked like he might cry.

Dean, knowing full well what could happen to Sam, if their dad caught him crying, injured or not, tried his best to cheer up his brother.

“Sam, hey, come on, it’ll be all right, it’s just a birthday. They happen every year.”

“But a year is so long!” Sam complained.

“Yeah, I know, but I’ll tell you something. Next year? On my birthday? I’ll let you celebrate it however you want to. Cake, balloons, whatever.” Dean searched for Sam’s hand , found it, and gripped it tightly, trying to comfort him.

“Really?” Sam asked, hope shining in his eyes.

“Yep. But you better get me a good present!” Dean teased, smiling.

“Oh don’t worry, I will!” Sam exclaimed excitedly.

“Good. But remember, you got a whole year to work on that, so how ‘bout you try and get some rest now?”

“Okay.” Sam agreed, already closing his eyes. He was more tired than he thought.

Dean pulled his chair closer to the bed, so he could resume holding his little brother’s hand while sitting.

“Dean?” Sam asked quietly, eyes still closed.

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s late, but… happy birthday.”

Dean stared at his brother’s resting form before answering. “Thanks Sammy.”

When John returned, he found Sam sleeping soundly in his hospital bed, with Dean sitting right next to him, asleep in a chair, his head resting on Sam’s bedside, his hand still grasping the hand of his brother tightly, as if to reassure himself even in sleep that he was still there.

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One year later, Sam was disappointed once more, on Dean’s eleventh birthday. John and Dean had gone on a particularly dangerous hunt, and even though Sam was now six, and capable of taking care of himself, John didn’t want to bring him along. So, when January 24th came around, Dean and John had been away for two days, and probably weren’t coming back for at least another two, seeing as the job was taking a while to wrap up. Sam had been dumped at Bobby’s, and as much as he liked the man, he was upset that once again, he would miss the chance to celebrate his brother’s birthday. Dean saw no reason to celebrate his own birthday, and John certainly wouldn’t celebrate it with him. It was up to Sam to get Dean to celebrate his birthday for the first time since their mother’s death. As things were looking now, Sam would have to wait another whole year before he got the chance to carry through with that plan. It just wouldn’t have been the same if Sam got Dean to celebrate his birthday when he got back. First of all, his brother would probably refuse, especially since it wouldn’t really be his birthday. And second of all, their father was planning on taking a break for the next two weeks, and Sam really didn’t want to celebrate his brother’s birthday with their dad in the house. It wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

Bobby noticed Sam’s foul mood that day, and questioned him about it. Sam told him about the situation, and the older man seemed to understand.

Bobby was angry at John for a lot of things concerning the treatment of his sons, and it didn’t surprise Bobby that John neglected birthdays. He was touched by Sam’s commitment to making sure his older brother celebrated his birthday properly for once, and made the boy feel a little better by helping him come up with ideas for next year.

When Dean and John finally arrived home, Sam made sure to wish his big brother another late happy birthday. But the actual celebrating part would have to wait until next year.

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One year later, a week before Dean’s twelfth birthday, Sam had finished his task of getting presents for Dean. Three were from himself, one of which, he would tell Dean had come from their father, because Sam knew how much Dean craved affection from the man. There was also one from Bobby. Sam had even gotten Bobby to bake a cake for Dean in secret. The older hunter was more than willing to help out Sam’s cause.

Everything was ready, but the day before Dean’s birthday, disaster struck.

John, Dean and Sam had been tracking down a crocotta the whole day, and they finally found it living in a dark alley where several dumpsters were located. The dumpsters provided the filthy environment a crocotta prefers. John was sure the monster was hiding in one of the dumpsters, and cautiously, all three Winchesters walked into the alley and started searching. Sam was checking out one of the dumpsters towards the back of the alley when he heard Dean calling him from a dumpster across from the one he was investigating. He didn’t see his brother, so Sam figured that he must be behind the dumpster. John had told Sam and Dean all about crocottas. Sam was aware of the fact that they could mimic human voices. But he didn’t even think about this fact as he walked over to where he thought he had heard Dean calling him. It wasn’t until he got to the dumpster and still didn’t see Dean that he remembered what his dad had told him. His realization came too late, however, and before he knew it he saw a shadow jumping down from the dumpster above him. The crocotta had taken the human form of a middle-aged man with pale skin and dark hair who was a little overweight. It pushed Sam against the wall of the alley, ready to kill its victim.

“Sammy!” Sam heard Dean shout. Just as the crocotta was about to strike, Dean full out tackled the creature off of Sam.

“Dean!” Sam cried out. He could hear their dad calling both of their names farther down the alley.

In seconds, the crocotta had thrown Dean off of him and into the opposite alley wall. Dean’s impact with the wall was hard, and he fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The crocotta walked over to Dean, giving Dean time to try and stand. He had almost made it when the creature picked him up again and threw him against a dumpster. This time, Sam heard a terrible crack as Dean’s leg broke. As the crocotta closed in for the final blow, Sam pulled out his knife and ran towards it, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Aaahhh!” he yelled as he thrust the knife into the monster’s back. The crocotta cried out and reached back with one of its arms to reach the source of pain. Sam pulled out the knife quickly and let the creature fall to the ground. After a few seconds of gasping in pain, it finally fell still, a pool of blood already starting to form beneath it.

Sam stared at the dead monster for a minute, breathing heavily, his blood-stained knife still gripped tightly in his hand. He looked up to see John tending to Dean, who was unconscious now. Dean’s leg was bent at a strange angle, and there was a deep gash in his forehead, blood flowing from it continuously, covering his brother’s face and clothes. After staring at his brother in horror for several seconds, Sam realized his father was trying to tell him something.

“Sam! Get back to the car! Now!” As he said this, he was carefully picking up his injured son, making sure not to jostle the broken leg too much. Sam nodded numbly, but didn’t move.

“Go!” John yelled, and finally, Sam took off, sprinting back to where they had parked the Impala. He opened the door in the back so his father could lay Dean down across the seats. Without having to be asked, Sam sat with his brother immediately, trying to slow down the blood gushing from his sibling’s head.

John got behind the wheel and drove as fast as he could to the nearest hospital.

“Oh god, Dean, Dean, Dean, oh god, I’m so sorry, so sorry, Dean…” Sammy sobbed the whole way there, the smell of his brother’s blood filling his nose, the thick, red liquid covering his small hands.

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The next morning, Sam found he had fallen asleep in a chair in the hospital’s waiting room. He felt his dad stroking his hair gently, sitting in a chair next to him. The previous night’s events came rushing back to him all at once, and he sat up abruptly, alarmed.

“Dean! Dad is Dean okay? Please tell me he’s all right, it’s all my fault, I was so stupid…”

“Sammy, calm down right now, you hear me? Just breathe.”

“But dad…”

“Sammy everything’s fine, okay? Your brother is safe and out of harm’s way. He’s resting now, but we can go see him in a few minutes all right? In fact, I think that’s his doctor coming to get us right now…”

Dean was still asleep when they entered the room. He looked very pale and still, but he was breathing steadily, and according to the doctor, he should be awake soon. He had lost a lot of blood, but it hadn’t been too severe. None of his injuries had really been life-threatening. It might take a while to recover from, but overall, it could’ve been a lot worse. His head was wrapped in clean white bandages, and there was a long cast on his left leg.

John and Sam sat down next to the bed to wait. Then Sam remembered.

“Dad! It’s Dean’s birthday today!”

John looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he realized it was true. “It is isn’t it? Poor kid. Stuck in a hospital on his birthday.”

“Um, dad? I was wondering…”

A few minutes later, John had a word with Dean’s doctor. The man smiled, and nodded in agreement, before giving Dean something to keep him asleep a little while longer.

In two hours, John, Sam and Bobby were all sitting in Dean’s hospital room waiting for him to wake up. There were a few multi-colored balloons tied to the chairs, and Bobby’s cake was sitting on the table in front of Dean’s bed. In the corner of the room sat Dean’s presents. The present Sam was going to give Dean that was supposed to be from their father was money the youngest Winchester had stolen from his dad’s wallet. Sam confessed this to his father when he was pondering what he should get for Dean. John forgave his son, and took the money back to give to Dean himself. Bobby had gotten Dean a glove and a baseball. As for Sam, he had carved a wooden knife for his big brother. It had taken ages, but he was proud of the result. He had also drawn Dean a picture. He was by no means a great artist, but he had tried. It was of himself and Dean together, happy and smiling. Sam had made sure to include nothing that had to do with hunting or the supernatural.

When Sam had told his father about his plan to bring Dean’s birthday celebration into the hospital room, he wasn’t sure how his dad might react. To Sam’s great pleasure, John had agreed whole-heartedly, and they had arranged for Dean to be asleep longer in order for them to have time to contact Bobby and decorate the room. Sam couldn’t remember ever being happier.

When Dean’s eyes finally fluttered open, Sam was right there, gripping his hand firmly.

“Happy birthday Dean!”

It was the first time Dean Winchester had celebrated his birthday in seven years.