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A few days ago 
wendy asked for Sam birthday fic, and I couldn't resist because both Sam and wendy are awesome.
So this is about 2,000 words of shmoopy birthday fic, although there's a bit of angst before the shmoop. I've totally handwaved the canon timeline such as it is and placed Sam's birthday a month or so after the events of Mommy Dearest.
Title: In lieu of presents.
The exchange of presents was not a big part of Winchester life. Growing up, a combination of poverty and a forgetful father meant the expectation of gifts bought with it inevitable disappointment. But kids are resourceful, so Sam and Dean made their own traditions and got by with trinkets stolen from gas stations or fashioned from scraps and such.When they were adults, things got more complicated. I mean what do you give your brother once he’s died for you? Socks or a new set of headphones don’t quite cut it. Plus the occasions themselves got weighed down with tragedy. Dean shared with birthday with Jessica, Sam’s marked Dean being dragged to Hell. Not to mention that any annual event was loaded when it meant it reminded you that the previous year maybe your brother was dead, or soulless. It was kind of fucked.
But Winchesters know how to deal with fucked.
&&&
"It’s like we’re in a car wash." Sam could barely see ten feet beyond the window as the rain lashed at them from every direction. He felt claustrophobic, as if there was no world outside the car to escape to.
Dean was hunched over the steering wheel, driving at an unprecedented 30 miles an hour in an effort to stay on what he hoped was the road. He looked beyond tired, his eyes glassy and bloodshot, as he shot an aggrieved glance across at Sam.
"Dude."
Sam puzzled for a moment, before remembering rule 17, or maybe it was rule 29, from Care and Feeding of the Impala by Dean Winchester. No. Carwash. Ever.
“Well, that’s another good reason to get off the road.” Sam paused, and when Dean didn’t immediately bite his head off at the suggestion, he thumbed through the list on his phone. “We can get onto the i70 in a few miles and then there’s a Super 8 just outside of Independence.”
Dean didn’t reply, but then he wiped a hand over his face. For a moment he looked old, a man of middle age, not one barely passed thirty. Then he conceded. “Yeah, why not?”
Sam relaxed a bit, leaning back in the seat. Finally.
&&&
Sam had been scattering out reasons to stop in front of Dean for the past day and a half. He’d brushed them all aside but with tornados playing hopscotch across four states, the weather had finally won out where all else had failed.
They’d been hunting continuously for over a month. Eve might be dead however her monstrous children were now home alone, and they seemed emboldened by some sort of psychic echo of her kill and convert mission.
But while their dance-card was legitimately full, this relentless pace they’d kept up, with barely enough time to wash the gore from their blades before they were back on the road? That was all down to Dean. Sam knew the signs well: it was Dean’s patented coping mechanism.
&&&
They’d only talked about Castiel twice since they’d left Oregon. The first time was back at Bobby’s where they’d tossed around a dozen theories on how they might find Crowley, but come up with nothing. Castiel was the elephant in the room until Bobby finally tossed a peanut at it.
"Look, we can sit here and track monster and demon activity across the lower 48 til next Halloween, but we might as well just wait for Crowley to turn up on Oprah. It’s a game changer if Cas is involved, and you know it."
"I can’t even..." Dean paced across the room. "This is Cas we’re talking about. Last count he’s died a couple of times for us, and saved our asses more times than I can remember."
“Well, if we don’t consider all possibilities, then it will be our asses on the line again!” Bobby banged a book down on his desk. Sam knew this would get them nowhere. He had his own suspicions, but they had no facts and arguing about it wouldn’t get them any closer to the truth.
Besides, it was taking its toll on Dean. Whatever he said, Sam knew the thought that the angel may have betrayed them has burrowed into his thoughts like that damn Khan worm of Eve’s. Sam wasn’t quite sure he really understood what it was between Dean and Castiel, and hell he was certain neither of them did, but he knew how important the angel was to his brother. At its simplest, he was the first friend Dean had ever really had.
So between that and having had a monster in the form of their mom take a bite out him, it was no wonder Dean was chugging down Jack like it was Coke. He thought Sam didn’t notice, but drinking made Dean quieter. There was an inverse correlation between how many smart quips Dean made, and how much he was drinking. Going a day without quoting some movie or other was definitely a bad sign. That plus the stack of bottles Sam had found outside stashed behind a drum of sump oil told Sam all he needed to know.
In the past he would’ve tried to talk to Dean, but he knew now that wasn’t what he needed. So they packed up the car, left Bobby gathering intel, and hit the road.
&&&
Sometimes the best gift is not the one you want to give, but the one the person wants, even if it is a bit weird.
&&&
The first three weeks, things had been fine. A day spent tracking down a nest of vampires or hacking through a dozen werewolves left them both exhausted and happy in a weird way. It was good honest killing of unambiguously evil creatures.Dean was even sleeping for four or five hours at a stretch, with usually only a glass or two of whiskey as a night cap. It was an extreme form of diversion therapy, but it was working.
Then they came to a town in eastern Nebraska with three young men been murdered and a church vandalized.
&&&
"Bobby said it was on third and Fairmont." Dean slowed as he came to the intersection, which had houses on three corners and a park on the fourth. "Huh. Nothing church-shaped here."
"Go past the park a bit."
At the end of the park was an unsignposted street.
"Turn here."
"What are you – a human GPS?"
Sam glared at Dean, as they swung into the street. Sure enough, a couple of hundred yards along was a sign pointing to the rather diminutive Church of the Resurrection.
"How’d you know?"
"Good guess." As he got out of the car, he looked around and when he spotted the old porch swing under the elm, it felt familiar.
He realised Dean was watching him.
"You been here before?" Dean had made him promise to tell him anytime they hit a place Sam remembered from the time when he didn’t have a soul, a time coyly referred to by both of them as “back when” or “you know”.
"No." He caught Dean’s look. "Really!"
"You haven’t been..." Dean mimed a scratching motion at his temple.
"No, no way." It wasn’t quite a lie, although ever since they’d hit town Sam had experienced this strange feeling somewhere between déjà vu and a half forgotten memory.
&&&
The church was in ruins. You could only call this vandalism if it were done by actual Vandals. There were scorch marks across the walls, the floor was pock-marked with blast craters and the stench of sulphur was strong. Pews were tossed around as if a giant Jenga tower had been pushed over.
Around the altar was ash left behind from what coroner’s report documented as the charred bodies of three men in their early 20s. What the report failed to mention was that the victims had the tell-tale spikes of wraiths, as Sam and Dean had discovered on a late night morgue visit.
As they picked over the wreckage, Dean called out. He was kneeling beside some upturned pews, scored with rows of sigils and symbols.
"Enochian?" Sam crouched beside him, splinters snagging at the fingers he ran over them.
"Yeah, looks like it. Question is - what went down here? Monsters, angels and demons in the same place?"
"Maybe it was Crowley."
Dean stood up and rubbed a hand at his collar, as if it were too tight. "We don’t even know he’s still kicking."
"There were angels here Dean, that means Cas might know something."
"No."
Sam stood toe to toe with Dean. "It can’t hurt to ask him."
"Cas said he’d get back to us if he found out anything about Crowley."
"Are you sulking because he hasn’t called? Or is it if he were here you wouldn’t know whether we could trust him anyway?"
Dean looked down at the ground for a long moment, and when he at Sam, his expression was dark.
"Cas wouldn’t lie to us Sam. He wouldn’t lie to me." Without waiting for a response, Dean turned and walked out of the church, angrily shoving aside the wreckage in his path.
Sam could’ve kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to sound off at Dean, but they’d danced around this for weeks. The dull ache of a headache nestled behind his eyes. Fuck Castiel.
He decided to take some pictures of the sigils; Bobby might be able to interpret them. He took out his phone and crouched down to get a close-up of a strange marking surrounded by a ring of blood. As he leaned over, he felt a surge of nausea and then everything went black.
&&&
Sam came to slowly. He thought at first he must’ve been asleep, but was lying on something hard and rough. He felt strong hands holding him, and heard his name being said again and again. He wanted to open his eyes, but he felt safe as he was – just another few minutes he wanted to say.
Then he felt a hand slapping against his cheek, gently at first, and then harder.
“Owwww.”
“Sammy? You with me?”
Sam blinked his eyes open.
"Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay." Well, aside from the drums pounding in his head.
As the world came back into focus for him, he could see Dean was breathing as fast as if he’d just outrun a ghoul. He had one hand tightly bunched in the front of Sam’s shirt, while the other gripped his shoulder as if Dean was hanging on for dear life.
"Dean. Hey..." He placed his hand over Dean’s, trying to hold his gaze as he nodded his reassurance. "Really, I’m fine."
Legs wobbling a bit under him, he struggled up, but Dean stayed down, leaning on one knee. Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. For support, although he wasn’t sure for whom.
"Hey, seriously, there was no fire and brimstone. I think I got whammied by some left over spell or something."
They left the church, and drove straight out of town without a word. All Sam could think of as they sped past the city limits, was the look he’d seen on Dean’s face when he’d opened his eyes; something he’d rarely seen despite all they’d been through over the years.
A look of pure terror.
&&&
That had been nearly two weeks ago. Dean had started drinking again. A lot. He was quiet most of the time, except when quizzing Sam about how he felt. He seemed almost panicked if Sam was out of sight, It made hunting hard, which wasn’t a bad thing as suddenly cases seemed to dry up. Maybe monsters hated bad weather too.
Still Dean kept them on the road. They stopped in every town they went through, picked up a local newspaper just in case it had a report of a spate of people discovered with bite marks on their necks, or hearts ripped out, that the internet had failed to pick up. Still nothing.
Sam was at a loss of what to do. He even resorted to asking Dean if he wanted to talk about things. Dean’s response was simply “Why?” to which Sam had no good answer.
&&&
While occasions like birthdays or Christmas often went unmarked, Sam could guarantee that every Valentine’s Day, Dean would find a heart made of candy, or plastic or more often an actual human or monster heart and present to Sam, preferably somewhere public, with a pleas to “Be my Valentine?” When he was a teenager this made Sam want to both die of embarrassment, and punch Dean in the face.
Now, well now he looked forward to it, although he still feigned annoyance because that was what made Dean happy.
&&&
They pulled into the motel just past eight, although the sky had been dark since late afternoon. They checked in, and Dean flopped down on a bed, and flicked on the TV. He wasn’t even watching it, he just sat there, light from the screen flickering over an expression that upset Sam not because of the emotion he could read there, but the absence of it.
"I’m going to go get some food. What do you want?"
"Whatever."
"Okay, I’ll be back soon."
Dean grunted, as he reached into his duffle for the fifth Sam knew he kept there.
&&&
Sam shook himself like a golden retriever as he slammed the door shut against the elements howling outside.
He placed one bag with the logo proclaiming that Pete was the Pie King on a chair and covered it with his jacket, and dumped the other couple of bags on the table. He dug into one, tossing a paper bag onto the bed next to Dean, who gave a desultory look inside.
Sam watched him out of the corner of his eye while toweling his hair dry. As Dean rummaged around in the bag, Sam could see a shift in his features. Not much, just the tightness around his mouth and eyes relaxing a bit.
"Double bacon and cheese? Onion rings? And mozzarella sticks?"
"I couldn’t decide, so just ordered you the full heart attack special."
Dean already had a mouthful of something deep fried. "Nrghh hrmm blat."
"Okay. I think I’ll take a shower. There’s some more stuff in the bags. Just don’t touch my fries."
&&&
When Sam came back into the room, Dean had a bounty spread out before him. He reached out to pass Sam a coffee cup with a wedge of lime stuck on the edge. He took a gulp from his own cup, and held up the cup.
"Laichaim!"
Sam smiled and took a sip. Tequila and Mountain Dew. He picked off the lime, rubbed it on some of the salt clumped on the edge of the cup and sucked at it. Motel margaritas were Dean’s speciality. Plus tequila seemed to be the one liquor that didn’t make either of them maudlin.
Dean paused as he topped up his drink, and waved the bottle at the contents of the bags that he’d emptied across the bed. "Dude, you clear out the store?"
Across the nylon quilted bedspread, which looked about as old as the Shroud of Turin and just as clean, were a the local paper, a couple of car and celebrity gossip mags, and a selection of DVDs – Caddyshack, Phantom Menace, a trio of the Resident Evil movies, My Best Friend’s Wedding and something with Will Ferrell. Sam didn’t even glance at them; he was transfixed at the sight of Dean with a half-smile on his face, more relaxed than Sam had seen him in weeks.
"Yeah well, might be stuck here for a while. Forecast sounded bad – tornado warnings couple towns over."
Dean picked up one of the DVD’s "Fail on this one though. I mean it’s still Julia, but should’ve been the hooker flick."
"Sorry, not really my genre." Sam knew very well that Pretty Woman was Dean’s admitted favourite Julia Robert’s movie, but he also knew Dean loved singing along to “Say a Little Prayer” after he’d had a few drinks. He’d probably really want some pie around then too.
Sam picked up a plastic case with the shapely silhouette of Milla Jovovich carrying a semi automatic in each hand on the cover. "Something light to start with?"
&&&
When Sam woke the next morning, he felt about the same as he did when he’d come to in the church – pounding head, dry mouth, someone calling his name – except this time he was in a bed.
"Sam, Sammy. Coffee?"
Dean was standing beside his bed, last night’s cocktail mug now smelling of hot caffeine. Sam raked a hand through his hair and yawned loudly, before reaching for the drink. Dean started laughing.
"What?"
"Man, you should see yourself. Sometimes I swear you’re part Wookie!"
Sam growled and stretched for effect, and then tossed his pillow at Dean.
"Still raining?"
Dean sat down at the table, newspaper open in front of him.
"Yeah. Might as well stay put for the day. Still got Caddyshack and two more Resident Evils to watch."
There was silence for a moment as Sam sipped at his coffee. The previous night was a bit blurry, but there had a vigorous argument over Jar Jar Binks and Milla Jovovich’s sexual predilections, or possibly which one of them would win in a fight with light sabres. There may also have been singing, although both he and dean would deny it. The main thing Sam remembered though was Dean, socked feet tucked under him, laughing and teasing Sam, and possibly texting a picture of his butt to Bobby.
Dean looked up from the newspaper. "So, umm, I noticed, today, it’s the 2nd. The 2nd of May. We should do something. For, you know, for your birthday. We should do something for you."
Sam smiled, a wide smiled that dimpled his face. "We already did Dean. We already did."