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It’s six in the morning when Dean wakes up from five hours of sleep.
His head’s aching from the many beers he drank last night, and he swears under his breath as he sits up in bed and remembers what day it is. He runs a hand over his face, resisting the urge to collapse back on the bed and fall asleep again. Instead, he stands up slowly and wraps himself in his bathrobe, before drowsily making his way out of his room to the bathroom. He spends a few minutes in there, getting the last of the alcohol out of his system and taking a quick shower, before he makes his way to the kitchen. He knows he probably won’t be in the mood to eat anything right now, because this hangover is hell, but he doesn’t really care. He’ll eat anyway. He’s used to hangovers, and he’s spent too many nights hungry as a kid not to eat whenever he’s supposed to.
He immediately goes to the fridge and pulls out what’s left of the bacon and gets to making it, trying to pretend it’s just some other day and that nothing’s wrong. Nothing is wrong. It’s not like he does anything for himself every time today comes around each year. And he’s told Sam not to do anything either. Dean doesn’t deserve having special food bought for him or anything just because he’s a year older. He hasn’t had anything special for being a year older other than going shooting with dad when he was alive in thirty six years. He’ll be fine. He doesn’t want Sam or anyone buying him things, anyway. Dean couldn’t afford to eat properly sometimes until he was almost twenty, much less afford to get a cake every year, so it’s really no big deal. All he has to do is ignore the annoying feeling of heaviness in his gut that comes with this day, and it’s a normal day. Sam’s probably forgotten at this point anyway, because it’s been years since he’s asked Dean about it, so no one even has to be reminded. It’s just a normal day.
A normal day that makes him feel like there’s rocks in his stomach.
For some stupid reason he doesn’t know. Or maybe doesn't want to admit.
He’s sitting at the table with a plate full of bacon and a cup full of coffee minutes later, and he starts eating without missing a beat. He feels like a robot, methodically stuffing piece after piece of food into his mouth, chewing, then swallowing. He stares straight ahead as he does so, and it takes him a moment to realize that he still feels full of rocks. Everything seems heavier. The bacon tastes duller than usual, and the coffee is more bitter. But he’s used to it. He’s been feeling it every year since he was twelve. Which is surprising, really. For eight years after he turned four, he still waited, hoping that he’d get gifts, that he’d get cake, that he’d get something. He was stupid. This feeling is stupid. Everything about today is just so stupid.
Footsteps in the hall snap him out of his thoughts. He looks at the entrance to the kitchen, half expecting Sam, but deciding the footsteps don’t sound right to be his brother. Cas is standing there a moment later, and Dean raises an eyebrow slightly, trying to force a smile. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says, pouring as much enthusiasm as he can into the words. It might be a little too much. Cas tilts his head just slightly, before moving to sit across from Dean, who looks down at the last few pieces of bacon on his plate.
“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says a moment later, and Dean looks up at them. He almost asks if they slept well, before remembering that they probably still don’t sleep. He doesn’t really know what to say, so he just nods slowly.
“Yeah.” He stuffs three pieces of bacon in his mouth, looking away. There’s an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, and Dean’s eating the last bacon strip when Cas finally says something.
“Do you have plans for today?” he asks. Dean nearly chokes.
“Wh...uh, what d’you mean?” he manages to say, before chugging the last of his coffee to keep from dying.
“It’s your birthday. Right? I should get you something.”
Dean nearly chokes again at the word ‘birthday’, and he takes a moment to swallow the coffee properly, before he looks at Cas. He stares for a moment, saying nothing, processing. He hates that word more than anything, and he doesn’t know why. Probably the same reason the rocks form in his stomach every time today comes around. “Who the hell told you that?” he mumbles. Cas’ eyebrows scrunch together.
“Sam,” he answers slowly, and he leans forward in his seat slightly.
“Why?”
“I asked.”
Dean shakes his head. “I told him not to tell anyone.”
Cas nods. “Yes, he told me that, too.”
Dean’s jaw clenches, and his stomach feels heavier. He looks down. “Yeah? Well, just forget it.”
“Dean-”
“I said forget it, Cas!” he snaps, looking up at them, before biting the inside of his lip. “Please,” he adds quietly. Cas sighs loudly.
“Why?” they finally ask. Dean looks down and shakes his head.
“Because it’s not a big deal, okay?” The words come out a bit more aggressively than he means them to, but he keeps going. “I haven’t celebrated my...haven’t celebrated today since I was four, okay? And I’m fine with that. Really. I don’t care.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t waste your time on me.” Neither of them say anything. Dean feels like the rocks in his insides feel like they’ve turned into a black hole, distorting him, pulling at him, and he feels sick. He stands after a moment, and Cas stands almost immediately after, placing his hand on his shoulder.
“Dean?” he questions. Dean looks at him, unable to stop himself from leaning into the touch just slightly. He then shakes his head, shrugging Cas’ hand away.
“Going for a drive,” he says quietly. “I’m fine,” he adds a little more loudly before Cas can ask, and then he’s leaving the kitchen, ignoring them calling after him.
It’s almost seven hours later when Dean drives back to the Bunker. The strange weight and pull inside of him has calmed down, just a bit. It’s still there, and he still doesn’t know why, but he’ll manage. He just needs a couple more beers, and for no one to mention anything. He wonders if that’s too much to ask, but he hopes Cas will just leave it be. He doesn’t want to deal with this right now. Or ever.
He sees Sam in the library, on his laptop, and he doesn’t say a word as he makes his way towards the kitchen. Sam doesn’t say anything either. Dean’s thankful for that. He can yell at him for telling Cas about today later. Right now he just needs a drink and to be alone. Maybe he’ll finally figure out or admit to himself why he feels like this every January 24th after a couple beers and a lot of thinking to himself. Or maybe he never will. It doesn’t matter. He just wants today to be over. He’ll be fine tomorrow. Well, not fine. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be fine. But at least he’ll have one less thing to have to deal with.
Dean makes it to the kitchen after a moment, but freezes when he sees about a gazillion cupcakes set out on trays on the metal kitchen island and Jack holding a piping bag full of frosting. Jack looks up from the cupcake he’s apparently applying frosting to and smiles. “Oh. Hi, Dean,” he says, taking one hand away from the piping bag to wave. Dean just stares, eyes wide, mouth hanging open slightly. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak English.
“Woah, woah, what...the hell is going on…?” he asks, looking around the kitchen, before looking back at Jack and the many trays of cupcakes. Jack raises his eyebrows and grins wider.
“See, Cas said you were feeling sad, and you shouldn’t feel sad on your birthday, so-”
“Cas said what?” Dean interrupts. “They told you?!”
Jack seems to jump slightly. “Well, yeah...he made these and I’m decorating them, because he said that he wanted to make you feel better.”
Dean shakes his head. “Well it’s not fucking working!” he grumbles. “I told him to forget it, I told him not to waste time on-”
“Maybe I want to ‘waste’ time on you, did that ever occur to you?”
Dean starts slightly as Cas speaks, and he turns around to face them. He says nothing for a moment, before taking a step back. “You’re an idiot,” he finally hisses. “I don’t need your stupid cupcakes, I’ve been fine without them for a long time. I’m fine.”
Cas shakes his head. “You’re not fine.”
Dean groans. “Why can’t you just leave things alone?!”
“Because I care about you, Dean!” Cas snaps, and Dean blinks at the sudden change in his tone. “We all care about you.” Cas sighs. “But you don’t want to let people care about you. Why don’t you see that you deserve this?”
Dean swallows hard, saying nothing.
“I’m only three,” Jack’s voice says quietly from behind Dean after a moment, and Dean turns his head to look at him. “But I get sad on my birthday sometimes. It reminds me of my mother.”
Dean bites the inside of his lip, looking down.
“But Cas and Sam make me feel better. Cas took me shopping one time.” There’s a pause. “I’m young, but...I know it’s good when people care about you.”
“Let us care about you,” Cas says softly. “Let me care about you.”
Dean shakes his head. He doesn't want them to. He doesn't want Cas to. He's been fine. He is fine. Or he will be tomorrow. He doesn't deserve people caring about him or fucking cupcakes or anything. It's just a stupid day that he happened to be born on, and he didn't even ask for that. He didn't ask to be born, so why the hell should people celebrate it? Why would anyone want to celebrate him?
But he finds himself nodding slowly after a moment. He can't help it. It's been so long since something like this has happened, something about him. He selfishly wants to know what that's like again. He thinks of when he first met Cas. Of what they said. 'You don't think you deserve to be saved.' He didn't. He doesn't. He doesn't think he deserves anything good. He's only here to give, give, give. He'll give everything for everyone else. He wonders what it feels like for someone to give something for him. For him to allow that to happen.
“Okay…” he says quietly, not looking up. “You’re both idiots, but okay.” He looks up at Cas, who smiles just slightly. He then turns and looks at Jack who walks over to him and holds out the piping bag. “Oh, no. No, no way...I don’t want-”
“Dean.”
Dean looks at Cas, before rolling his eyes slightly. “Fine, fine.” He hesitantly takes the piping bag. “But tell anyone, you’re both dead.”
Cas laughs quietly. Jack just looks kind of confused. And it takes Dean a moment to realize, but he’s smiling at them, and the distorting weight in the pit of his stomach seems like it’s shrinking. Maybe this is okay. Maybe he can let people do things for him, sometimes. Not just things that have to do with hunting, with saving the world, but things for him. Maybe he deserves it.
Maybe this is okay.