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Sam woke up just a little past eight in the morning.
For a few blissful seconds, he let himself lay there beneath the bed sheets as he stared up at the concrete ceiling. The air was cool, the kind of steady underground chill the bunker never quite lost no matter the season. Somewhere deep in the vents, the old heating system hummed quietly.
It was peaceful
He looked over at the clock on his nightstand.
May 2nd, 8:07 am
His chest tightened.
There it was.
No matter how much he tried not to think about it.
May 2nd
His birthday.
Yet the words didn't mean what they use to anymore.
Once, birthdays meant Dean waking him up early, usually before sunrise because he was too excited to wait. They meant his brother's attempt at making pancakes with too many chocolate chips because Dean insisted birthday calories didn't exist. They meant cheap presents wrapped in newspaper because money was tight with Dean apologizing that he couldn't afford something better while Sam couldn't care less.
Where Dad would come back and took Sam for hunting practice instead of buying him something. Their father really didn’t do traditional birthdays since the day their mother died. No birthday cake, no streamers, no singing. Instead, it was hunting practice, or showing them how to use different weaponry, and on the rare occasions a shoulder pat. Nothing compared to what Dean would go through to make Sam smile.
Sam could still remember turning eight in Nebraska, Dean had somehow scrapped together enough change to buy powdered sugar donuts and a bottle of orange soda from a gas station. He'd borrowed a handful of candles. from a diner the night before. His brother had been so proud of himself.
Like he pulled off the greatest heights in history.
But when Dad came back… well, the day kinda ended and Sam went off into the woods instead of doing what he wanted to do; spending time with Dean.
Sam smiled despite himself.
The smile didn't last.
Because birthdays stopped feeling like something to celebrate after Dean went to Hell.
He knew they had faced a lot since then.
Things that would make this day look like a walk in the park.
But that didn't stop Sam waking up remembering one thing before anything else.
The hellhounds
Dean screaming.
The day his brother had gone to Hell
His birthday had became an anniversary.
Sam closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face.
He'd never told Dean.
How could he?
Dean already carried enough guilt and trauma for things that hadn't been his fault, the last thing Sam wanted was for Dean to blame himself for thinking he ruined another piece of Sam's life.
He was just glad that his brother hadn't remembered the date up to this point. Because somehow the date managed to slip by without Dean noticing. Sam remembered being on edge all day, bracing himself for when would suddenly remember, only to breathe out a sigh of relief when the day passed quietly.
A faint smell drifted under his bedroom door.
He could smell coffee, maple syrup and… pancakes?
Sam frowned.
Dean was cooking.
Which wasn't unusual, ever since they had started living in the bunker, Dean had taken up cooking, and he was thriving at it.
But Dean making a full breakfast before eight thirty?
That was unusual.
Sam let out a slow breath and swung his legs over the side of his bed. The cold concrete floor met his bare feet, sending a chill up his spine. For a long moment, he sat there, elbows on his knees staring at the floor. He could still go back to bed, pretend to be sick so he wouldn't have to face this day.
Dean would worry, of course. He'd probably insist on checking his temperature, make him some tea, hover over Sam until he finally admitted he was fine.
No
That would only make things worse.
Sam scrubbed both hands over his face before standing. He pulled on a faded gray t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and shuffled his way downstairs. The smell of coffee grew stronger as soon as he stepped into the hallway.
The closer he got the more he's able to hear Dean muttering to himself. "Okay, now stay there—"
Just for a second, he hid behind the corner of the kitchen. Dean had his back to him, standing on one of the kitchen chairs with a roll of clear tape clenched between his teeth. A blue streamer drooped stubbornly from one hand while he tried to press the other end against the stone wall.
The tape peeled away immediately.
"Oh come on!" His brother muttered. "I'm gonna burn this place to the ground."
Sam found himself covering his mouth to hide his laughter. Dean sighed dramatically and bent to pick the streamer up. That was when he noticed Sam standing in the doorway.
Dean froze, then his eyes lite up. "There he is!"
Sam managed a small smile. "Morning."
Dean smile was as bright as the sun itself, "Happy Birthday, Sammy!"
The words landed harder then Dean knew.
Sam watched as his brother climbed down from the chair and gestured around the kitchen with obvious pride.
Sam looked around, really looked. A paper banner with reading Happy Birthday hung crookedly over the entrance to the kitchen, one corner dangling lower than the other. Breakfast covered the table. Pancakes. Hash browns. Fresh fruit. And at the center of the table, a small store bought cake that said Sammy written in messing handwriting.
Sam's chest tightened.
Dean had remembered.
Of course he had.
"Well?" Dean asked, sounding almost… nervous. "How's it look?"
Sam forced himself to smile, "It looks great."
Dean visibly relaxed, his eyes beaming, "Yeah?"
Sam nodded, let out a huff of laughter, "Yeah."
It was everything he ever wanted growing up.
To be seen, to be noticed.
To be cared for.
To be loved.
But that was before hell dragged Dean away from him.
Dean grinned, "There it is!"
Sam tilted his head. "What?"
"You laughed." Dean said like it was the achievement of the century. "Haven't heard that enough lately."
Sam looked away, guilt settled heavily in his stomach.
Dean had gone to all this effort. Gotten up early to cook, went out and actually got a cake, and Sam's favorite fruits. All for him. No one else.
Dean walked over with a two cups of coffee in his hands and handed one to him. "So I was thinking after breakfast we'd head into town. Maybe go to the bar. Or the farmers market." He shrugged, taking a sip. "We could head to the library and get some of your nerd books."
Sam swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, it settled in his stomach, bile rose to the surface. All he could think about was Dean screaming, and the hellhounds ripping his brother apart. He held Dean in his arms for hours and hours until dawn, kept his body for days, just looking at him before finally burying him. He couldn't burn him—
No no, he couldn't.
He couldn't do this anymore.
"Dean—" He murmured, "I don't really…"
The words caught in his throat.
Dean tilted his head. "What?"
Sam stared at his coffee, unable to truly find the right words. "I don't…"
Silence stretched, but Dean waited.
Patiently
"Or we don't have to go anywhere." Dean said after a moment. "We can just stay here and watch bad tv. Play some cards. Drink a few beers."
Sam smiled for a moment, his eyes drifted to the cake, to the banner.
May 2nd.
His smile faded and tears blurred his vision.
Dean noticed it in seconds and moved closer. "Sammy?" He asked concern already in his voice. "You okay?"
There it was.
The question he'd been dreading.
He could lie
But Dean knew him too well for that.
He looked around the room again, every bit was Dean trying to give his little brother one good day. "I'm trying to be."
Dean didn't answer right away. Instead, he set his cup of coffee on the table and sat in one of the chairs. "Okay." He said gently. "What are we dealing with?"
Not What's wrong with you?
Not Why are you acting so weird?"
Just
What are we dealing with?
Like it wasn't Sam burden to carry alone.
"I don't think… I can celebrate my birthday anymore."
Silence
"Why not?" Dean finally asked.
Sam kept his eyes fixated on the coffee swirling around in his cup, he hadn't taken a single sip. "It's the day you—" He trailed off, he knew how Dean still sometimes got when it came to hell. He watched Dean look around at the breakfast, he could practically see the gears turning in his head before realization that this was something deeper settled there.
"Sammy—"
"I'm sorry."
The apology slipped out before Sam could stop it.
Dean blinked, "What?"
Sam choked out a humorless laugh, "You did all this—" He pressed his lips together, gesturing toward the table. "Got up early, cooked, got me a cake. And here I am ruining everything…"
Suddenly, Dean was right next to him, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, whoa" He said shaking his head. "Sammy, stop."
Sam looked up.
Dean gave him a small smile. "Listen to me, you aren't ruining anything, okay? Just… talk to me, yeah?"
Sam closed his eyes, "I wish I could do this…" He croaked out. "I wish I could just walk in here and be happy seeing all this." His eyes fell to the cake. "But I can't. Because all I can see is you being ripped apart and—" His hands were trembling now, "I know… we've faced worse since then but all I remember is losing you—"
Dean's face lost what little color it had. "Oh Sammy…" He could see the guilt already forming on Dean's eyes. "I didn’t realize.”
Sam shook his head, “S’fine.”
“No, it’s not.” Dean said, tilting his head to look at him better. “It's just… the day you were born… was the best day of my life. I've never seen this day as anything else. I remember Dad bringing me into the hospital room." Dean smiled sadly, looking lost in a memory but still keeping eye contact with him. "You were so little, so loud. You looked like an angry potato."
Sam let out a choked laugh.
"I remember promising that I'd always look out for you. Holding you for hours, Dad being jealous because I was hogging you." Dean swallowed thickly, "I celebrate today because you happened. My baby brother, the most important person in my life." Tears slipped down Sam's cheeks, Dean rested his hand against the nap of his neck and pulled him forward. "C'mere."
Sam buried his face against his brother's shoulder and held on like a man drowning. Dean's love for him, Sam knew he didn't deserve it. He was Dean's whole world. He knew. Everyone knew. After all the mistakes he's made, he knew that's the last thing he deserved, but Dean still loved him anyway.
"It hurts Dean, it hurts so damn much—“ He gripped the back of Dean's shirt. "I don't know what to do to make it stop."
The kitchen went quiet for a moment.
"I'm here, Sammy." Dean whispered, “I’m right here.”
He tried to focus on that, that Dean was here, he wasn't dead, he wasn't in hell. He was right here like he was always meant to be.
Sam let out a shaky breath, "I'm sorry…"
Dean shook his head. "I can take all this down." He said as he pressed his cheek against Sam's. "We don't have to do any of it."
"But you—"
"No." Dean said, holding him tighter. "If it hurts, if you not ready, I'll take it down."
He closed his eyes.
"Maybe…" He sniffed, trying to wipe away his tears. "We could watch a movie?"
He felt Dean let out a breath. "Yeah?"
Sam nodded against Dean's shoulder, "Yeah…"
"Okay." Dean said as he pulled away, smiling softly, cautiously. "Okay."