AN ~ It's Sam's birthday! Which has not always gone well for him in the past, but I hope the future holds better things. I apologise for any feels this fic may induce but I hope it leaves you smiling. No Season 9 spoilers, just bromance and nesting!Dean. Enjoy.
…
May 2nd 1983
Sam Winchester doesn't know it yet, but this is one of several beginnings of a saga that Heaven itself has been writing for God only knows how many years.
That evening, when they take him home, John and Mary look on, wrapped in each other's arms, and laugh, as three-year-old Dean attempts to carry his baby brother around the living room. He looks comically undersized, half concealed by his burrito of a brother, but he never stumbles. He's taking care to do as his mother demonstrated and keep a hand under baby Sammy's head as he starts to sing:
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Sammy…
.o.o.o.
May 2nd 2007
Sam doesn't like to think about it, but ever since he found out what Dean did that day, it's been grating on him. No matter how many times people tell him that none of it's his fault (and frankly, there aren't too many people who try), it gets to him more than he knows it should that it happened on his birthday.
Honestly, he can't put his finger on why exactly it bothers him that it happened on this particular day. Half the time, John was away on the actual date – but he would usually show up eventually, with a present and a cupcake each for the three of them, and they would have their own little celebration. Even when he didn't, Dean was there, with peanut butter and jam and songs and love for his little brother. But Dean was always there. The day didn't matter.
Except for this day.
This one birthday.
When Dean had sold his soul for Sam's life.
.o.o.o.
May 2nd 2003
This one is a good memory, even three years later when it hurts. It is full of Jess. She'd set up a celebration in the park with a few of their college friends. Sam remembers his surprise. His hesitancy, even – he had to get to work! In his memory, she shines as she smiles at him and takes his hand, telling him she'd called in sick for him because he'd mentioned once that he'd "never had a real birthday, not like that". She'd baked a cake. To be brutally honest, it had tasted terrible. She'd enjoyed watching him fake it, before confessing she'd known before she'd cooked it that it had been a massive flop.
Fortunately, Brady showed up with a purchased cake that tasted half decent. They'd raised a toast to Jess' efforts and cheered when Sam had kissed her for it. He could still feel the sun on his face, and the warmth of her next to him. Even on the nights when he dreamt about that day, and he would open his eyes after the kiss and she'd be gone.
.o.o.o.
May 2nd 2008
As much as he would like to, Sam can't block out the memory. He cannot tear the date from the calendar and burn it, any more than he can burn up the contract Dean signed not long enough ago. He will always remember – until at least a few years in the future, when hellfire takes its place – the invisible restraints on his limbs, pinning him against the wall as the hellhound shredded his brother's body. Even through the hellfire, those eyes stick with him. He had never seen his brother look so damn terrified in all his life. And he wants to tell Dean that it's okay that he was scared. He wants to hug him and cry until there aren't any more tears left in his body. But it won't do either of them any good now.
Not for the first time, Sam curses this day. The day he was born. He wishes he could stake, salt and burn May 2nd, even if it meant taking himself out of the picture. In fact, knowing about the demon blood that cursed him now, maybe removing himself was the best reason of all to remove this hideous date from all of time.
.o.o.o.
May 2nd 2015
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
Sam's eyes fly open and he sits up immediately. The echoes of Heat of the Moment still ring in his ears but as his arm swings toward his alarm clock, he realises it has not gone off. And he's not in the motel room. He's in the bunker. He lets out a breath and runs his hands over his face and through his hair.
"Dean?" he asks, when his throat opens up again. He swings out of bed, pulls on a jacket and half-drags himself out into the main area. Dean stands at the head of the table, grinning widely at his brother. Sam frowns. It's cold, and it's early: two conditions in which Dean is usually strongly opposed to being awake.
"Happy Birthday Sammy," Dean greets. Sam's eyes drop to the slightly lopsided cake that takes pride of place in the centre of the table. He sees Jessica's miserable attempt at a cake, hears her laughter in his ear like a bell as he spits out the bitter, bicarb-soda-tainted pastry. He sees the little table where him and his Dad and his brother used to sit, in dim lighting, and wait for him to make a wish on the candle stuck into his cupcake. He sees the birthday here when Kevin was alive, and Dean practically force-fed him soup all day, trying to mitigate the effects of the Hell trials. He sees Dean's glazed eyes staring up at nothing, and remembers falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around his brother, sobbing like nothing in the world will stop him…
The smile on Dean's face sinks as he sees his brother tearing up.
"Sam?" he wonders, stepping around the table and approaching his brother. Sam continues staring, his eyes glistening red in the candlelight. He doesn't seem to see his brother until Dean touches his shoulder.
"Hey, y'alright?"
Sam turns his head, to look straight into his brother's very alive, cheerful, slightly concerned eyes. Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam can't help but laugh. He throws his arms around his brother's neck and holds him close for a long moment, feeling hesitation, then his hug back. Feeling his heartbeat.
"I…" Dean's not sure what to say when Sam lets him go. He's not sure anything needs saying. "I made PB&J?"
Sam laughs again, breathless, and moves to the table, where there's an empty plate for each brother, a stack of what appear to be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, burgers, and – a bowl of carrots?
"What?" Dean shrugs. "I'm a responsible guardian."
Sam grins and reaches for a sandwich as Dean starts cutting the cake.
"Yo Castiel," Dean calls, shouting to the rafters. "Get your ass down here, this cake's gonna be godly."
There's a flutter of wings. "I don't eat, Dean."
Dean moves his own plate to the empty position opposite Sam, and dumps a slice of cake on it. He gestures with the knife.
"Siddown and enjoy your molecules."
Cas takes a seat and eyes the layout suspiciously. He looks up across the table at Sam, and smiles. Sam smiles back, even wider, and takes another bite of his sandwich. PB&J has never tasted better.