Ficlet: Happy Birthday, 1/1, Sam, Dean, Gen, [PG]
Ficlet: Happy Birthday
Author: sandymg
Summary: It’s Dean’s birthday. In all the chaos of making deals with Death and getting Sam's soul back, Dean has practically forgotten.
Spoilers: Through S06x11 Appointment in Samarra
Wordcount: 840 - one-shot
Genre: Gen, comment fic, schmoop
Characters: Dean, Sam
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
A/N: Written for cordelia_gray ‘s prompt at samdean_otp Hug Now comment fic meme.
A/N2: ETA: Been informed I got Dean's age wrong. He's 32 (or 33) if one counts the year jump. Not going to bother editing though; just noting it here :D
Happy Birthday
Dean knows he kinda missed his thirtieth birthday. Not missed as in dead for it. At least he doesn’t remember it being one of those times. But it passed among the crapfest that was stopping the Apocalypse and nobody ever mentioned it. Not really surprising. Some days (or maybe weeks) later he suddenly realized he was thirty. Said a silent huh and moved on.
Yet he wakes up on January 24, and remembers it’s his birthday. It’s beyond odd because he can’t really say the last time he remembered on the actual day. Been a while. He turns toward the other bed and Sam is still asleep. Sam sleeps long and deep these days. Maybe his body is making up for all the sleep he’s missed. At least Dean tells himself this. Better than thinking his brother would rather be asleep than awake.
A blink later he’s met with a slightly groggy hazel stare. Sam stretches his extra-long arms above his head and lets out a soft moan. Under the blankets Dean makes out the shape of Sam’s legs twitching. It still amazes him just how tall Sam is. In his mind, there will always be a scrawny little kid looking up at him. Dean pushes himself up; stupid sentimental thoughts have no place in his life any more. Haven’t in a long time.
“Hey,” Sam says. “Morning.”
“Mornin’.” Dean rises to use the bathroom, coming out ten minutes later towel-drying his hair. He dresses quickly spotting Sam sitting in the motel’s small table with a newspaper spread in front of him. A tired sigh escapes at the sight. Time to find new evil. New bad guys. More things that are wrong in the world.
“Find something?” he asks Sam, forcing an unfelt enthusiasm into his voice.
Sam’s been distant since waking up with his soul back. He’s acted a bit more like himself. Well, he hasn’t randomly tried to off anyone at least. And Dean has caught him looking at him once in a while with a questioning glance. But then it quickly went away. They haven’t really talked. But they haven’t really fought either. Dean’s told himself to be patient. It’s still good. Because the alternative was unthinkable.
Ultimately Dean figures Sam is still dealing with the impact of everything that’s happened to him. He can’t really blame him. Even with the wall that Death put up he imagines some of Hell creeps through. He shudders slightly in memory. Puts up his own wall and hopes, honestly now, that Sam found them something interesting to hunt at least.
“It’s January 24th,” Sam says.
Sam looks up, eyes on Dean and yet somewhere else at the same time. For once Dean is certain that Sam is feeling something. It’s slightly frightening but mostly startling. He’s frankly taken aback and doesn’t know what to say. “Yeah?”
“It’s your birthday,” Sam states. Dean isn’t sure what’s going on but knows something is. He worries a moment because Sam is shaking slightly now, rising slowly from his seat by the table. He knocks the paper over with his hand as if it did something wrong. “It’s your birthday,” he says again, voice low and soft and achingly familiar.
It’s another breath before he’s swallowed up in Sam’s huge arms, pulled in so tight the air rushes out of his lungs in a squeaky oof. “Sammy?” he manages to choke out before his throat closes up altogether.
A warm breath tickles his ear. Harsh and slightly desperate. He feels Sam’s shoulders hitch. Jesus. It’s been so long since he’s seen Sam cry. He buries his face in his brother’s shoulder because he can’t let himself see it now. Instead, he just holds on.
They stay like this for several beats and then Sam’s shoulders shake once more only this time it’s a warbled laugh. In that moment Dean gets it. Understands what Sam felt. Because he’d just felt it himself. It was the recognition, simply knowing what today meant. Remembering. Like normal people do. Like they did when they were kids and birthday mornings meant something even in their fucked up lives.
An answering laugh escapes as they pull apart. Sam’s eyes are gleaming as he gives Dean’s shoulder a final squeeze. “Happy Birthday, bro.”
“Thanks,” he answers and turns away before he embarrasses himself.
His brother is smiling at him. And it’s reaching Sammy’s eyes. Dean lets that fill him. He didn’t remember thirty but he doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget thirty-one.
fin
Author: sandymg
Summary: It’s Dean’s birthday. In all the chaos of making deals with Death and getting Sam's soul back, Dean has practically forgotten.
Spoilers: Through S06x11 Appointment in Samarra
Wordcount: 840 - one-shot
Genre: Gen, comment fic, schmoop
Characters: Dean, Sam
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
A/N: Written for cordelia_gray ‘s prompt at samdean_otp Hug Now comment fic meme.
A/N2: ETA: Been informed I got Dean's age wrong. He's 32 (or 33) if one counts the year jump. Not going to bother editing though; just noting it here :D
Happy Birthday
Dean knows he kinda missed his thirtieth birthday. Not missed as in dead for it. At least he doesn’t remember it being one of those times. But it passed among the crapfest that was stopping the Apocalypse and nobody ever mentioned it. Not really surprising. Some days (or maybe weeks) later he suddenly realized he was thirty. Said a silent huh and moved on.
Yet he wakes up on January 24, and remembers it’s his birthday. It’s beyond odd because he can’t really say the last time he remembered on the actual day. Been a while. He turns toward the other bed and Sam is still asleep. Sam sleeps long and deep these days. Maybe his body is making up for all the sleep he’s missed. At least Dean tells himself this. Better than thinking his brother would rather be asleep than awake.
A blink later he’s met with a slightly groggy hazel stare. Sam stretches his extra-long arms above his head and lets out a soft moan. Under the blankets Dean makes out the shape of Sam’s legs twitching. It still amazes him just how tall Sam is. In his mind, there will always be a scrawny little kid looking up at him. Dean pushes himself up; stupid sentimental thoughts have no place in his life any more. Haven’t in a long time.
“Hey,” Sam says. “Morning.”
“Mornin’.” Dean rises to use the bathroom, coming out ten minutes later towel-drying his hair. He dresses quickly spotting Sam sitting in the motel’s small table with a newspaper spread in front of him. A tired sigh escapes at the sight. Time to find new evil. New bad guys. More things that are wrong in the world.
“Find something?” he asks Sam, forcing an unfelt enthusiasm into his voice.
Sam’s been distant since waking up with his soul back. He’s acted a bit more like himself. Well, he hasn’t randomly tried to off anyone at least. And Dean has caught him looking at him once in a while with a questioning glance. But then it quickly went away. They haven’t really talked. But they haven’t really fought either. Dean’s told himself to be patient. It’s still good. Because the alternative was unthinkable.
Ultimately Dean figures Sam is still dealing with the impact of everything that’s happened to him. He can’t really blame him. Even with the wall that Death put up he imagines some of Hell creeps through. He shudders slightly in memory. Puts up his own wall and hopes, honestly now, that Sam found them something interesting to hunt at least.
“It’s January 24th,” Sam says.
Sam looks up, eyes on Dean and yet somewhere else at the same time. For once Dean is certain that Sam is feeling something. It’s slightly frightening but mostly startling. He’s frankly taken aback and doesn’t know what to say. “Yeah?”
“It’s your birthday,” Sam states. Dean isn’t sure what’s going on but knows something is. He worries a moment because Sam is shaking slightly now, rising slowly from his seat by the table. He knocks the paper over with his hand as if it did something wrong. “It’s your birthday,” he says again, voice low and soft and achingly familiar.
It’s another breath before he’s swallowed up in Sam’s huge arms, pulled in so tight the air rushes out of his lungs in a squeaky oof. “Sammy?” he manages to choke out before his throat closes up altogether.
A warm breath tickles his ear. Harsh and slightly desperate. He feels Sam’s shoulders hitch. Jesus. It’s been so long since he’s seen Sam cry. He buries his face in his brother’s shoulder because he can’t let himself see it now. Instead, he just holds on.
They stay like this for several beats and then Sam’s shoulders shake once more only this time it’s a warbled laugh. In that moment Dean gets it. Understands what Sam felt. Because he’d just felt it himself. It was the recognition, simply knowing what today meant. Remembering. Like normal people do. Like they did when they were kids and birthday mornings meant something even in their fucked up lives.
An answering laugh escapes as they pull apart. Sam’s eyes are gleaming as he gives Dean’s shoulder a final squeeze. “Happy Birthday, bro.”
“Thanks,” he answers and turns away before he embarrasses himself.
His brother is smiling at him. And it’s reaching Sammy’s eyes. Dean lets that fill him. He didn’t remember thirty but he doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget thirty-one.
fin