Fic: Party Like It's Your Birthday (1/1)
Title: Party Like It’s Your Birthday
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dean/Cas
Summary: It’s Dean’s birthday, and Cas wants to give him something special to celebrate.
Warnings: Established character death, blasphemy
A/N: The fifth part of my Greyhound Bus ‘Verse. Or the GHB!Verse, as I’ve started calling it. Lyrics are from the Sarah Evans song Backseat of a Greyhound Bus.
Word Count: 1236
Disclaimer:The characters and song lyrics aren’t mine. If they were, I’d be rich. Kinda.
She wore a dress with cherries on it
Going somewhere where she’d be wanted
“Grandpa!” The little girl ran down the stairs, black hair flying out behind her as she raced to the door. She leapt from the steps and was caught in strong arms, twirled around, and set back down.
“It’s daddy’s birthday,” she reported, bright blue eyes shining up at the blond man.
“Is it?” her grandfather asked, a smile lighting up his face. “Well, I’d better go wish him a happy birthday, then.”
The girl grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs. “Dad! Daddy! Grandpa’s here.”
Dean poked his head out from the kitchen. “Funny, I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.”
“Oh, you’re hilarious,” God said with a roll of His eyes. He followed Abby into the kitchen and took a seat at the large table, smiling at the family and friends seated there.
“Dean,” Jimmy Novak scolded. “Don’t provoke the deity.”
Dean just shrugged. “Like He’d smite me on my birthday.”
The deity in question just smiled, happy that His wayward son-in-law had finally realized that he truly did belong in Heaven.
The five-year-old jumped up on His lap. “Dad got him a piñata.” She pointed out the doorway and into the sitting room, which had been decorated with streamers, balloons, and a comical, goateed, bright red devil piñata.
“I can see that.”
“He’s gonna beat it up for sure.” She settled back into her Grandfather’s warm embrace, smiling as Mary brought out a cake and a chorus of dead people broke out into a tone-deaf rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
-.-
“I never had a birthday party before.”
Castiel rolled onto his side and stared at the hunter. “Never?”
“Well, when I was a kid. Like, before I turned five. I think dad forgot that year. I mean, it’d only been a coupla months since mom, and...”
“He never remembered?”
Dean grinned. “Naw. And if he did, it was usually around March.”
“That’s sad.”
“Not really. Got to get my own presents, make my own cake.” He laughed, shaking his head at the memories. “Used to steal a bunch of crap for myself, wrap it up in newspaper, and tag ‘em. Every year, I got stuff from both my parents, Sam, Jim, Bobby, whoever else I could think of.”
Cas frowned. “That’s… horribly depressing.”
“Made me feel better. Least they remembered.” He rolled over, positioning himself above the angel. “My last real birthday, you got me a rosary and a card that said you thought I needed it. Good thing, too. Got in me in good here.”
The angel actually scoffed at that. “A rosary.”
“Yeah. Seemed like your kinda thing.”
“That’s because I wasn’t trying.”
“Oh? So, what did you get me this year? Is it kinky?”
“Your first real birthday celebration since your mother’s death, and all you can think about is sex?”
Dean shrugged. “What else could I possibly want?”
“To be special.”
Dean blinked and rolled away. “Dude. Way to kill the mood.”
“Why did you wait five years to have a celebration?”
“Does it really matter?”
“It matters to me.”
He sighed. “Abby. Abby came first. Feeding her and changing her and teaching her to walk and ride a bike…” Dean trailed off, eyes growing distant for a second. “Is that it? Is that what you’re gonna do?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Teach me how to ride a bike. Dad was too busy, and I always wanted to learn, but… you’re the first person I’ve told.”
Castiel sighed. “I had something different in mind, but if you insist…”
Dean shook his head at that, dismissing the notion. “No. Never mind. What, uh, what’d you really get me?”
The angel sat up and took Dean’s hands in his, making the hunter instantly feel like he was at some overly dramatic slumber party. “Do you remember what I told you when we first met?”
“That high-pitched squealing noise? Sorry, man. Got lost in translation.”
Cas actually smiled at that. “Exactly. Do remember why that was?”
“I couldn’t… I’m not special.” He shook his head. “I’m not good enough.”
Castiel leaned forward and kissed him. “You’re good enough. You always were. Especially for me.”
“Dude. That’s cheesy. Even for you.”
“Just trust me.” The angel captured his mouth again, one hand resting on the hunter’s cheek while the other snaked around to the back of his head, pulling him closer. The temperature of the room seemed to rise with the contact, making Dean hot, uncomfortable.
He tried to pull back, but Cas tightened his grip, pulling him lose and deepening the kiss. The lights flickered, brightening. Dean groaned. Something was wrong. Something was happening.
The hunter finally pushed himself out of Castiel’s embrace and opened his eyes, searching instinctively for signs of danger.
His room looked the same. Same pale blue paint. Same family photos. Same rumpled sheets. Same glowly thing sitting next to him on the bed.
Oh.
Yeah, no. That was new.
Dean backed away from it, eyes tracking the room, searching for Cas, wondering when that thing had waltzed into their bedroom and taken his boyfriend.
It stared at him, huge golden eyes - eyes that made him shudder - staring out of a sleek, smooth, angled face. It’s limbs were long, graceful. Four-fingered hands clutched at the sheets, as if their little staring contest was making it nervous.
Something rustled behind it, and Dean’s focus shifted. Wings. They looked like wings, wisps of light creating the illusion of feathers, of depth and dimension and solidarity.
“Cas?”
The thing smiled, the soft blue light that surrounded it - that it was made of? - pulsing slightly. “Dean.”
It wasn’t a high-pitched squealing. Was soft and deep and calming. Wonderful.
“You look…”
“Beautiful?” Said with a smirk, of course.
“Kinda like an alien.”
The full-on smile was back, would have been blinding if it wasn’t Heaven, if it wasn’t what Dean had always wanted. “You know how those abduction stories usually begin with people drinking in the woods?”
“Yeah?”
“Alcohol poisoning. Near-death experiences.” He shrugged. “They can’t tell the difference.” He scooted forward slowly, watching Dean for a reaction as he moved. “So.”
“So?”
“What do you think?”
Dean felt himself grin at that. At the nervousness in Castiel’s voice, the bunching of slender fingers in the sheets. “You’re all right. For a little green man.”
Cas was on him in an instant, pushing him back onto the mattress and staring down with that same old intensity. “I believe I’m blue.”
Warmth spread through him as their lips met. It should have been weird, though. Should have been weird having fingers that were too thin roaming over his body, pressing roughly into him, opening his eyes to find shining gold instead of deep blue, being surrounded by light and love and everything he’d never thought he could have. Everything he was never good enough for.
He’d been told that certain, special people could see angels. That as the savior of the human race, he was supposed to be special. But he wasn’t. Story of his life. He wasn’t special enough to see angels, to save his family, to have things. He wasn’t special enough to remember, to celebrate, to have hats and piñatas and cakes and presents.
He hadn’t been special until he’d died. After that, he’d become the center of the universe.
And he liked it.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dean/Cas
Summary: It’s Dean’s birthday, and Cas wants to give him something special to celebrate.
Warnings: Established character death, blasphemy
A/N: The fifth part of my Greyhound Bus ‘Verse. Or the GHB!Verse, as I’ve started calling it. Lyrics are from the Sarah Evans song Backseat of a Greyhound Bus.
Word Count: 1236
Disclaimer:The characters and song lyrics aren’t mine. If they were, I’d be rich. Kinda.
She wore a dress with cherries on it
Going somewhere where she’d be wanted
“Grandpa!” The little girl ran down the stairs, black hair flying out behind her as she raced to the door. She leapt from the steps and was caught in strong arms, twirled around, and set back down.
“It’s daddy’s birthday,” she reported, bright blue eyes shining up at the blond man.
“Is it?” her grandfather asked, a smile lighting up his face. “Well, I’d better go wish him a happy birthday, then.”
The girl grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs. “Dad! Daddy! Grandpa’s here.”
Dean poked his head out from the kitchen. “Funny, I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.”
“Oh, you’re hilarious,” God said with a roll of His eyes. He followed Abby into the kitchen and took a seat at the large table, smiling at the family and friends seated there.
“Dean,” Jimmy Novak scolded. “Don’t provoke the deity.”
Dean just shrugged. “Like He’d smite me on my birthday.”
The deity in question just smiled, happy that His wayward son-in-law had finally realized that he truly did belong in Heaven.
The five-year-old jumped up on His lap. “Dad got him a piñata.” She pointed out the doorway and into the sitting room, which had been decorated with streamers, balloons, and a comical, goateed, bright red devil piñata.
“I can see that.”
“He’s gonna beat it up for sure.” She settled back into her Grandfather’s warm embrace, smiling as Mary brought out a cake and a chorus of dead people broke out into a tone-deaf rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
-.-
“I never had a birthday party before.”
Castiel rolled onto his side and stared at the hunter. “Never?”
“Well, when I was a kid. Like, before I turned five. I think dad forgot that year. I mean, it’d only been a coupla months since mom, and...”
“He never remembered?”
Dean grinned. “Naw. And if he did, it was usually around March.”
“That’s sad.”
“Not really. Got to get my own presents, make my own cake.” He laughed, shaking his head at the memories. “Used to steal a bunch of crap for myself, wrap it up in newspaper, and tag ‘em. Every year, I got stuff from both my parents, Sam, Jim, Bobby, whoever else I could think of.”
Cas frowned. “That’s… horribly depressing.”
“Made me feel better. Least they remembered.” He rolled over, positioning himself above the angel. “My last real birthday, you got me a rosary and a card that said you thought I needed it. Good thing, too. Got in me in good here.”
The angel actually scoffed at that. “A rosary.”
“Yeah. Seemed like your kinda thing.”
“That’s because I wasn’t trying.”
“Oh? So, what did you get me this year? Is it kinky?”
“Your first real birthday celebration since your mother’s death, and all you can think about is sex?”
Dean shrugged. “What else could I possibly want?”
“To be special.”
Dean blinked and rolled away. “Dude. Way to kill the mood.”
“Why did you wait five years to have a celebration?”
“Does it really matter?”
“It matters to me.”
He sighed. “Abby. Abby came first. Feeding her and changing her and teaching her to walk and ride a bike…” Dean trailed off, eyes growing distant for a second. “Is that it? Is that what you’re gonna do?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Teach me how to ride a bike. Dad was too busy, and I always wanted to learn, but… you’re the first person I’ve told.”
Castiel sighed. “I had something different in mind, but if you insist…”
Dean shook his head at that, dismissing the notion. “No. Never mind. What, uh, what’d you really get me?”
The angel sat up and took Dean’s hands in his, making the hunter instantly feel like he was at some overly dramatic slumber party. “Do you remember what I told you when we first met?”
“That high-pitched squealing noise? Sorry, man. Got lost in translation.”
Cas actually smiled at that. “Exactly. Do remember why that was?”
“I couldn’t… I’m not special.” He shook his head. “I’m not good enough.”
Castiel leaned forward and kissed him. “You’re good enough. You always were. Especially for me.”
“Dude. That’s cheesy. Even for you.”
“Just trust me.” The angel captured his mouth again, one hand resting on the hunter’s cheek while the other snaked around to the back of his head, pulling him closer. The temperature of the room seemed to rise with the contact, making Dean hot, uncomfortable.
He tried to pull back, but Cas tightened his grip, pulling him lose and deepening the kiss. The lights flickered, brightening. Dean groaned. Something was wrong. Something was happening.
The hunter finally pushed himself out of Castiel’s embrace and opened his eyes, searching instinctively for signs of danger.
His room looked the same. Same pale blue paint. Same family photos. Same rumpled sheets. Same glowly thing sitting next to him on the bed.
Oh.
Yeah, no. That was new.
Dean backed away from it, eyes tracking the room, searching for Cas, wondering when that thing had waltzed into their bedroom and taken his boyfriend.
It stared at him, huge golden eyes - eyes that made him shudder - staring out of a sleek, smooth, angled face. It’s limbs were long, graceful. Four-fingered hands clutched at the sheets, as if their little staring contest was making it nervous.
Something rustled behind it, and Dean’s focus shifted. Wings. They looked like wings, wisps of light creating the illusion of feathers, of depth and dimension and solidarity.
“Cas?”
The thing smiled, the soft blue light that surrounded it - that it was made of? - pulsing slightly. “Dean.”
It wasn’t a high-pitched squealing. Was soft and deep and calming. Wonderful.
“You look…”
“Beautiful?” Said with a smirk, of course.
“Kinda like an alien.”
The full-on smile was back, would have been blinding if it wasn’t Heaven, if it wasn’t what Dean had always wanted. “You know how those abduction stories usually begin with people drinking in the woods?”
“Yeah?”
“Alcohol poisoning. Near-death experiences.” He shrugged. “They can’t tell the difference.” He scooted forward slowly, watching Dean for a reaction as he moved. “So.”
“So?”
“What do you think?”
Dean felt himself grin at that. At the nervousness in Castiel’s voice, the bunching of slender fingers in the sheets. “You’re all right. For a little green man.”
Cas was on him in an instant, pushing him back onto the mattress and staring down with that same old intensity. “I believe I’m blue.”
Warmth spread through him as their lips met. It should have been weird, though. Should have been weird having fingers that were too thin roaming over his body, pressing roughly into him, opening his eyes to find shining gold instead of deep blue, being surrounded by light and love and everything he’d never thought he could have. Everything he was never good enough for.
He’d been told that certain, special people could see angels. That as the savior of the human race, he was supposed to be special. But he wasn’t. Story of his life. He wasn’t special enough to see angels, to save his family, to have things. He wasn’t special enough to remember, to celebrate, to have hats and piñatas and cakes and presents.
He hadn’t been special until he’d died. After that, he’d become the center of the universe.
And he liked it.