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Dean woke up early that morning, kicking off his sheets and scrubbing his hands over his face as he tiptoed down the stairs, careful to keep his noise down. He couldn’t have Sam waking before his surprise was ready, after all. He shuffled into the kitchen to find Bobby already up, mixing pancake batter and a large banner inscribed with Happy Birthday! hanging above the table.
“You got started without me,” Dean whined, pouring himself a mug of coffee.
“Couldn’t wait all morning for your lazy ass to get up,” Bobby smirked, pushing the carton of milk at Dean.
He added a splash to his coffee. “I’m up like an hour earlier than I normally am on Saturday.”
Bobby snorted, pouring some of the batter on a frying pan. “Well, there’s lots to do.”
Dean took a long pull from his coffee before setting it down, going to dig the hidden presents out of the hall closet. All of them were wrapped in bright blue wrapping paper plastered with the Superman logo. He arranged them on the kitchen table so Sam would be able to see them right when he walked in.
He and Bobby worked in companionable silence, Bobby frying pancakes and bacon while Dean cut up some fruit; all the makings of a Sammy-style birthday spread. Every previous birthday, Dean had tried his best to give his kid a good birthday, with what little funds they had. Now, Dean had more than enough money to spoil Sam as he deserved. And after the awful last six months they had, he was determined this would be a good day for Sam.
Just when Dean had finished setting the food out on the table, the sound of Rumsfeld’s paws scraping and the hardwood and the soft thumps of footsteps could be heard from above them.
“Showtime,” Bobby mumbled.
The stairs creaked and Sam shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen with Rumsfeld right at his heels. Sam pulled his hands down from his eyes, jaw dropping a little as he took in the setup.
Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”
The banner fluttered in the draft of the house, and the balloons tied to Sam’s normal chair bounced gently. Sam stepped forward, eyes wide. “You did all this?” He asked, voice small and uncertain.
“Course we did. You think we’d let your birthday pass without pancakes and presents? It’s not every day kids turn seven.”
Sam turned his gaze to Dean and a grin stretched out across his face. He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s legs, muffling a “thank you” against his pajama pants. Dean laughed, ruffling the kid's hair. “You’re welcome, Sammy. Now, c’mon, you have some presents to open.”
Sam almost tripped over his own feet scrambling over to his chair. His hands hovered over the presents, clearly torn on which one to choose. “It’s Superman wrapping paper,” He breathed in awe. “I’ve never had this many presents before.”
Dean’s heart broke a little at that. Six presents, four from Dean and two from Bobby, and to Sam it was like a fairy-tale come true. He forced the sad thought aside, Sam had all the holidays filled with presents to look forward to now.
“Just pick one,” Dean prompted as he sat down. “They’re all for you.”
Sam finally picked the smallest one, tearing open the wrapping paper and letting it fall to the floor where Rumsfeld immediately pounced on it. Sam gasped as a set of Superman comics was revealed, running his fingers over the title of the one on top.
“You got me the new ones?” Sam asked, grinning up at Dean.
“Yep, the guy at the comic book store said they’re really good.” Dean smiled back. It was impossible not to with his kid grinning at him like that.
Sam tore open the rest of his presents. From Dean: a sketchbook with a gigantic set of colored pencils, a hand-carved wooden knife with Sam’s initials etched into the handle, and a copy of The Hobbit. From Bobby: a set of new clothes (simple Henley's and flannel shirts) and a pocket compass. “So you can always find your way home.” He explained, and if his voice was a little rough, Dean didn’t comment on it.
“Eat up, Sammy,” Dean said, passing a full plate to him as Sam was studying the compass. “We got a big day ahead of us.”
“What’re we doing?” Sam asked around a mouthful of pancakes.
“It’s a surprise,” Dean teased, eating his bacon.
Sam picked up a strawberry. “Are you coming, Uncle Bobby?”
“Of course, squirt,” Bobby said. “So eat up, we gotta hit the road soon.”
Sam started shoving food in his mouth faster than Dean had ever seen him eat before. “Woah, not too fast, don’t want you to choke.” He said in slight alarm.
Sam said what might’ve been “I’m fine” around strawberries and bacon. He jumped up then, swiping his new clothes, and dashing up the stairs.
“Guess that means we better go get dressed,” Bobby huffed.
____
By the time Dean and Bobby were ready, Sam was dressed in his new clothes, bouncing in his sneakers at the side of the Impala.
Dean whistled. “Lookin’ sharp, kiddo.”
“I look like you, Dad!” Sam exclaimed, holding his arms out like he was showing off a superhero costume.
Dean picked him up, sitting him in his booster seat, heart swelling. “Yeah, you do.”
Thirty minutes later, Sam let out a shriek as they passed under the sign proclaiming Great Plains Zoo.
“A zoo!” He hollered, almost deafening Dean. “We’re going to a zoo?"
Dean chuckled as he guided the car into a parking spot.
“I want to see lions,” Sam declared. “And the rhinos and the penguins and the bears.”
“We got all day, buddy,” Dean told him as they climbed out of the car. “It’s your day, we can see whatever you want.”
They walked over to the main gate to buy their tickets and Dean felt Sam press up to his side. He looked ahead, taking in the large crowd ahead. It was a nice, sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded. It was the first time Sam had been in a large crowd of strangers since he’d been kidnapped, and Dean mentally cursed himself. He felt Sam’s smaller hand grab onto his and he squeezed it.
They got their tickets quickly, Dean securing a map of the zoo and letting Sam examine it. “What do you want to see first?”
“Penguins.” Sam decided, tugging Dean in the direction of the enclosure.
Sam had his face pressed up against the glass, staring at the penguins in wonder. One slid down the ice on its belly and Sam giggled. Another waddled forward and came close to Sam, who pressed his face against the glass even closer. It honked at Sam before flopping onto its belly and sliding away.
Sam’s breath fogged up the glass. “Did you see that?”
“Yeah, I think that one liked you.”
"Can I have a penguin?" Sam asked.
Bobby appeared next to them, loaded down with popcorn and lemonade. He passed one to Sam, who started slurping out of it. “Sure, kid. Just have your dad build an igloo in the junkyard.”
Sam giggled again, a soft, breathy sound that Dean had missed in those quiet weeks. He didn’t think that hearing it would ever get old. He took his offered drink from Bobby, watching Sam more than the animals. It was Sam’s day, he was content to let the kid take the lead with whatever he wanted to do.
They finished their snacks looking at the penguins and Sam decided on the giraffes next, slipping his hand back into Dean’s as they walked over. He stuck close, but was excited and animated as he talked about the giraffes and how tall they were and “did you know, baby giraffes can walk ten minutes after they’re born?”
They wound their way around the zoo’s path, finally landing at the lions. Their habitat was massive, a few lions hanging out on top of a jut of rocks and one lioness on the ground near the railing, batting at a massive bone.
“Woah,” Sam exhaled as he placed his hands on the railing, peering over it. “They’re huge. ”
“Bigger than they look on TV, huh?” Dean said, standing just behind him.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, nodding in wonder.
Dean bumped his shoulder. “You think I could take one in a wrestling match?”
“No,” Sam said, then smirked a little. “But I think Uncle Bobby could.”
Dean sputtered in mock outrage while Bobby chuckled, but his laugh was swallowed by a lion’s sudden roar echoing out. A group of kids nearby started screaming in delight, hitting the railing and sending the metal banging. Another lion looked up and let out a second, even louder roar, causing all of the noise from the kids to grow louder too.
Sam’s reaction was instant: he froze up, shoulders hiking up as his eyes darted around the space, unable to stay on one thing like he couldn’t decide what part of the noise to block out first.
Dean crouched down, blocking the group of children with his body. “Hey buddy, you alright?”
Sam’s eyes finally stilled on him, but his lips were pursed tight and he didn’t answer.
Too loud. Too many people. Too boxed-in.
“Too much?” Dean asked gently.
Sam nodded, once, tightly. Dean placed a hand on his back, hoping to help ground him. “Okay, that’s okay. Let’s go find somewhere quiet, yeah?”
Bobby nodded over his shoulder to a bench off the path, shaded and blessedly free of any other people. “Over there it looks quiet.”
They moved fast. Dean scooped Sam up, who just tucked his face into Dean’s chest and clamped his hands over his ears. Dean carried him over to the bench, Bobby walking on his side closest to the crowd, acting as a sort of guard. He sat them on the bench and Sam curled onto his lap immediately, hands still over his ears and breaths coming in short and fast.
Dean rubbed gentle circles into his back. “You’re okay, Sammy. We’re here, everything’s okay. Can you try and take a deep breath for me?” He carefully peeled one of Sam’s hands off his ears, and when Sam didn’t protest, placed it over his chest. He breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. “Just like that, buddy, see if you can copy me.”
He took in another breath and watched as Sam did the same, his chest finally slowing down. Sam took his other hand off his ear but remained tucked into Dean’s side.
Dean brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Better?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, voice muffled by Dean’s shirt. “I didn’t like the roar. Or the yelling.”
“I know, kiddo,” Dean said, rocking him a little. “It was too loud, wasn’t it?”
Sam nodded, his now free hand reaching out and holding tight onto Dean’s amulet. Bobby appeared with a bottle of water, passing it to Dean with a smile before retreating a little, giving them space. Dean managed to coax Sam out enough to drink slow, small sips from the bottle. “Good boy,” He praised when Sam was done, pulling the bottle from his lips.
“Sorry,” Sam whispered.
“Hey,” Dean chided, tilting Sam’s chin up so he would look at him. “You got nothing to be sorry for.”
He saw shame flicker across Sam’s face, the kind John had instilled in him, where he thought he was being too much or not enough.
“It doesn’t matter if loud sounds make you nervous,” Dean told him. “The world’s a little loud sometimes, we’ll just take a break when we need to. You’re still the bravest kid I know”
Sam blinked up at him. “Still?”
Dean’s throat tightened, but he smiled for Sam. “Especially still.”
Sam pressed his forehead into Dean’s chest again, no longer scared, but just resting. Dean cupped the back of his head. “I love you, so much kiddo, no matter what.” He whispered into his hair.
Bobby rejoined them, sitting on the open spot on the bench with a gentle pat on Sam’s shoulder.
Sam lifted his head, face still red but calmer. “Can we go see the kangaroos now, Dad?”
Dean didn’t think a time would come when hearing that wouldn’t make happiness balloon in his chest. “Sure, Sammy. You’re calling the shots, birthday boy.”
Dean reached for him, shifting him and standing so Sam was riding piggyback style when he stood. Sam gave a surprised laugh, wrapping his arms so they hung loosely around Dean’s neck.
“Point the way, Captain,” Bobby said.
Sam straightened, lifting one arm in a dramatic arc and pointing. “That way!”
“Aye-aye,” Bobby replied, falling in step with them with a salute.
The rest of the day passed by without incident, Dean making sure to keep to the quieter paths and taking little breaks under the guise of lunch and snacks. When the sun was setting, Sam was stumbling sleepily beside him as they walked towards the exit. Dean stopped, Sam blinking up at him questioning.
“C’mere before you fall over, kiddo,” Dean said, hefting Sam up into his arms.
Sam just sighed contentedly, pulling his new stuffed penguin, Mr. Waddles, into his chest. Sam’s head found its familiar spot against Dean’s shoulder, eyelashes already fluttering. Bobby walked ahead of them, car keys jingling in his hands.
“Best birthday ever,” Sam murmured.
Dean pressed a kiss to his hair. “Glad to hear it, buddy. But just wait until you see the surprise waiting for you at home.”
Sam’s eyebrows lifted drowsily. “Another one?”
“Mhmm. Can’t have a birthday without cake.”
A tiny smile curved at Sam’s mouth. He drifted off before they even reached the Impala, Mr. Waddles tucked under his chin.
____
Twilight was out when they got back to the house, Dean carrying a still-sleeping Sam inside. He settled him on the couch before heading into the kitchen, Bobby pulling out a chocolate frosted cake Dean had picked up the day before while Sam was at school. Happy Birthday Sam! was scrawled on it in bright blue frosting, yellow stars sprinkled over the cake. He pulled out the package of candles, sticking seven of them around the edges of the cake. Bobby carried the lit cake into the living room, Dean stirring Sam with a shake.
“It’s cake time, birthday boy,” He announced, watching as Sam, still sleep-muddled, took in the glowing candles. “Make a wish.”
Sam screwed his eyes shut, concentrating, before snuffing out all the candles in one blow. Dean and Bobby cheered, and Sam opened his eyes again, beaming now. Dean handed Sam the first slice of cake, icing smearing his cheek as he devoured it.
Dean reached for the napkins on the coffee table, eyes catching the stack of mail from the day before.
“Bobby?’ He asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice. “Did you go through the mail yesterday?”
Bobby set his slice of cake down. “No.”
Dean tugged the envelope that caught his attention out of the stack, addressed to Sam Winchester in familiar all-capital writing.
Sam peered at the card over Dean’s arm curiously, if a little guarded. “Is that from John?”
“Yeah,” Dean thumbed the edge of the envelope. “You want to open it?”
Sam bit his lip, thinking, before finally nodding. He took the envelope from Dean’s grasp and opened it to reveal a gas station card with a stock image of a birthday cake on it. Inside, a printed message on the card and a scrawled From Dad underneath. Not even a happy birthday in the man's handwriting to the kid.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean said.
Sam studied the card for a moment longer before sighing softly, closing it back up and setting the card back on the coffee table.
“It’s okay,” Sam said with a little shrug. “It doesn’t matter, like you said, remember?”
Dean did remember that conversation on the hood of the Impala, the first night Dean had shown Sam the constellations. But the way Sam said it, so certain and calm, made Dean clench his jaw. No kid should have to learn to give up on their father like that.
“The card’s just paper,” Sam said more definitely. “You and Uncle Bobby are real.”
Dean blinked fast, Sam shyly looking up at him through his bangs. Sam’s simple declarations never failed to cut down at the knees with the amount of love he felt for his kid.
Bobby pointed his fork at Sam, a glob of frosting falling off. “You're a smart kid.”
“Too smart for your own good, sometimes,” Dean managed to choke out, but his words worked, Sam puffing up at the complement.
Card ignored, they finished off their cake. Sam’s head was drooping again by the time he was done with his slice.
“You tired, kiddo?” Dean asked as he wiped the frosting off of Sam’s mouth. Sam just yawned in response, pulling Mr. Waddles in closer.
“Alright, I think it’s time for bed,” He picked Sam up, who hummed in agreement. He bounced Sam once in his arms. “Say goodnight to Uncle Bobby.”
“Night Uncle Bobby,” Sam parroted, sleep slurring his words a little. “Thanks for the best birthday ever.”
Bobby stood, a fond smile on his face as laid his hand on Sam’s head. “You’re welcome, Sam. Sleep tight.”
Dean carried Sam up to his bedroom, pulling out pajamas and helping the sleepy kid change into them.
“I think Mr. Waddles liked the monkeys best,” Sam yawned as Dean slipped the shirt over his head.
“Yeah?” He smiled, pulling back the covers to the bed. “What about you?”
Sam crawled into the bed. “I liked the penguins."
Dean pulled the blankets tight over Sam, tucking his penguin into the kid’s arms. “Me too.” He smoothed Sam’s hair down. “Good birthday?”
“The best,” Sam mumbled, more asleep than awake. “‘Cause you were there. Thanks for being my real dad.”
His eyes slipped all the way closed, sound asleep. Dean lingered, fingers brushing over the small, scar-thinned wrist that once bore rope burns. He leaned, pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Happy birthday, my brave boy.”
Outside the door Bobby waited, two beers in his hands. “Lights out?”
“He’s out cold,” Dean confirmed.
He followed Bobby down to the porch, sitting in a chair and taking a sip of the cold, bitter brew. The porch light buzzed above them, the night warm and still. They sat in silence for a while, the kind that made Dean feel safe rather than uncomfortable.
Bobby broke the silence first, voice rough but steady. “You think the card got to him?”
“I think… I think he didn’t let it.” He took a sip of his beer, then shook his head. “Kid took a look at the cheap card and decided he didn’t need it, not when he’s got us here. He- he called me his real dad, Bobby.”
“Sam’s got a real big heart,” Bobby mused, sipping at his beer. “He got that from you, you know. You do a real good job with him, son.”
Dean’s gaze stayed locked in the yard. “I just keep thinking back to where we were a few weeks ago. Him not talking, screaming himself awake. I was worried we weren’t going to get him back. Not really, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t fix it, I couldn’t stop it.”
Those weeks were the most terrifying of Dean’s life. For his little brother, his son, his one purpose in life, to be traumatized in such a way that left him mute and terrified, with Dean unable to do anything but hold him through his sobs? It made Dean’s heart rate pick up just thinking about it.
Bobby nodded, his voice coming out tight. “I was too. But we did get him back. He’s at school, talking, bossing me around my place.”
Dean snorted at that.
“And you did do something: you were there. He knows that and it got him through it. And now he had a good birthday, with his dad. You did good , Dean.”
Dean turned his head so he was looking at Bobby, the man just sitting there with nothing but understanding written across his face.
“Seven,” Dean sighed. “I can’t believe he’s seven years old already.”
“Seems like yesterday he was crawling around my house in diapers,” Bobby agreed. “But he’s got many birthdays ahead of him, both of ya do.”
“Cheers to that.” Dean raised his bottle, Bobby tapping his own against it with a soft clink.
Dean’s beer had gone lukewarm in his hands, but he didn’t mind, the tacky condensation feeling nice against his palm.
“I used to think my future was gone the night that Mom died,” Dean murmured. “That it burned up with our house. All that was left for me was taking care of Sammy and getting through the next hunt.”
“You’re allowed to want more,” Bobby said after a pause. “Sam’s not the only one who deserves a shot at real life.”
Dean peeled at the beer label with his thumb, considering Bobby’s words. Once, he had thought he’d go to college. And then John was drinking himself into oblivion and teaching Dean to hunt, and Dean had a baby to step up and raise, and all thoughts of college went out the window. Even now, with them stable and secure, Dean had no desire to go. Didn’t know if he could, after everything. But having Sam, working at the junkyard, was enough for Dean. It made him happy.
“This is real life, for me,” Dean said. “I got all I need.”
Bobby hummed, low in his throat. “Well, then when the time comes, this place is yours if you want it.”
Dean almost choked on his beer. “You serious?”
“‘Course I’m serious,” Bobby scoffed. “I don’t mean anytime soon, now, I’m not that old yet, but you already do half the work anyways. Consider it a belated birthday gift.”
“You think I could do it?”
“I think you could do whatever the hell you want,” Bobby admitted. “But if this is what you want, I think you’ve more than earned it.”
Dean leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking. A house and everything he needed to raise Sam. To give him, to give them both, a good life. He knew, now, how all too precious that was. What more could he want?
“Yeah,” Dean said, at last, voice low and sure. “Yeah, I want it.”
“Then it’s yours.”
“I know you told me to stop saying it, but thank you, Bobby. For everything.”
Bobby reached over and squeezed the back of his neck. “You’re welcome, son.”