It was the second of May.
Like every year, the most dreadful day of the year had arrived.
And with it, the usual Unsolvable Question: what was Dean going to give to Sam?
Not that the what was so important. For both of them it was enough that the other had remembered and had wanted to give something. After all, while they were persecuted by the FBI and Leviathans the presents had been some silver bullets and a recently fixed gun, during the Apocalypse a cupcake- something that hadn't happened since Dean had started to earn his own money- and even during Stanford the presents had been quite crappy: Dean had just sent some money.
But, as usual, Dean was worried. He wanted to give Sam something that would make him happy, but with their lives the only present that could actually do that was if Dean were able to take the Mark off of him. Which was Mission Impossible still.
Dean sat in the bunker's kitchen, trying to find a solution. Well, a better solution than the one he currently had in his hands.
Books? No, with the Men of Letters library they were literally drowning in books. Besides, Charlie had already told him she was going to send Sam something like a mountain of new books, just in case they wanted to buy a new bookshelf.
Guns? No, he had given Sam a new gun for Christmas and also one the previous year. With silver and blessed iron bullets.
Some protective necklace or something like that? No, Sam didn't wear that sort of things and Cas' present had been a new Enochian symbol on Sam's omerus-or whatever was the name of the new bone he marked- that was supposed to assure safety and happiness or something like that. He had even made sure to put it on Sam at midnight exactly. What a dork.
Some plaid shirts? Clothes in general? No, those had already been old when Sam was 14.
Porn? That was just sad.
Dammit.
Dean glared at the two tickets to the football game that were on the table. No one of them cared about sports. He didn't even know the teams that were gonna play or the tournament they were in.
But they were gonna be together, doing something relaxing, so it wasn't so bad, wasn't it?
He wasn't so sure. What if Sam wanted to spend the day on his own?
He was so engrossed in his own worries that he didn't even noticed when Sam got into the kitchen.
"'morning."
Dean jumped on the chair and put his arms over the tickets. "Oh, heya, Sammy. How did you sleep?"
Sam grunted in response.
Awesome, he hadn't sleep well, if he had even slept at all. Dean sighed and, as soon as Sam sat at the table, put the tickets under his nose. "Happy Birthday, Sam."
Sam stared at the tickets, and they smiled. "Wow, dude. It's been, like, years since last time we did something like that. Thanks, man."
"Then put on some make up and let's go, Samantha. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone how old are you." Dean smiled back at Sam, relief palpable in his voice.
"Think about yourself, jerk."
"Bitch."
-SPN-
In less than an hour, they were ready to go.
They opened the bunker's garage door to take the Impala out, when Dean froze on the spot. In front of his car there was... something.
Guns out, they walked toward the thing, Dean first. Then, he started to laugh.
"What?" Sam put the gun away and reached his brother. Then stopped dead and grimaced.
In front of Dean -who was going to strangle himself if he kept laughing, that was it- there was a huge stuffed moose. Huge like as in waist high. Using Sam as measure.
Between the moose's pads there was a colorful, mostly pink note, covered with glitters:
'Happy birthday Moose!
From: your favorite King'