A/N: I know I have a million fics gathering dust and waiting to be updated. I promise I will get to them. It's just, today is May 2nd. It's Sammy's birthday. I couldn't not write something.

Only, you guys know me. I was expecting to write a fluffy fic with happiness and rainbows but then this plot bunny hit and well, it's more bittersweet.

Happy 32nd Birthday, Sam Winchester!

Enjoy, everyone!

Lifeless eyes.

Invisible claws.

Red everywhere.

And the screams of pain. Dean fucking screaming in pain.

Sam jerks awake, drenched in sweat as he looks around and feels his heart slowing down. Bobby should have known better than to send Sam up to bed. Sam takes deep breaths, trying to expel the images from his brain.

Dean's gone.

He's fucking gone and Sam failed; failed to find a way to get Dean out of his deal. Sam wants to rip himself apart. Dean wasn't the one that was supposed to be dead in the first place. After what John had done for Dean, how the hell did Dean think that Sam would be okay when Dean did the same thing for Sam?

Dean knew firsthand what that would feel like.

Then again, Sam couldn't really blame his brother for what he did. He'd probably have done the same thing.

Sam sighs as he tries to rid his mind of thoughts, staring at the ceiling of the spare room in Bobby's house.

There's no way he's going to be able to sleep. He just lost his brother tonight. And it had taken a lot of yelling and shouting to make it clear to Bobby that Sam wasn't giving his brother a hunter's funeral. Sam was the reason that Dean died and got dragged off to hell. He wasn't going to give up on this. He didn't care if he did something stupid, but he was going to get Dean back.

He'd managed to find a secluded spot to bury his brother until he found a way to bring him back.

Sam shudders as he remembers the long and deep gashes he'd cleaned up and sown before burying his brother.

Tears threaten to escape as Sam's mind falls back to events of just hours before.

Let's just say he's marking this as one of the worst birthday's ever.

He'd only gone to bed because he knew Bobby wouldn't hear otherwise. Sam had first decided to head to a motel but Bobby wouldn't hear of it and so Sam had ended up at the Singer household. As fucked up as he felt, knowing that he was wasting time sleeping when he could be looking for a way to get Dean back, he knew this was hard for Bobby too, so he hadn't argued when Bobby had suggested he get some rest.

Sam swings his legs to the floor, sitting up on the bed, sniffing. He felt mentally exhausted but couldn't bring himself to lie back down, not when he knew he'd be waking up every few minutes seeing Dean's lifeless form.

It's like a part of him has been ripped apart. He knows he can't put himself back together.

Thinking of getting a glass of water just so he has something to do rather than dwell on his brother's death, Sam is about to get to his feet when he feels something tickle his heel. His feet immediately are off the floor and on the bed.

Sam warily bends over the side of his mattress, looking under the bed for what he'd just felt.

He frowns when he eyes a package. Did Bobby leave something of his in the room by mistake?

But then why would it be covered in plain brown paper?

Curiosity gets the best of Sam. Fuck it, he decides as he picks it up and lays it down in front of him. He crosses his legs as he stares at it in the little light in his room. A window on the far end supplies moonlight which Sam deems enough to be able to see what's inside.

Sam flips the package over and sees an envelope taped to the outside.

His heart rate picks up when he sees his name scrawled on the outside. He knows that scrawl anywhere.

"Dean," he whispers as he pulls the envelope loose and takes out the letter from inside.

Hey Sammy,

Happy Birthday. I'm pretty sure it's not really happy, but I couldn't NOT do something for you.

I know I've probably been the worst brother so far. Especially when you have to see me die on your own birthday, but I don't regret for one second selling my soul for you. I'd do it again and again.

I don't really know if you'll find this in time, but if you do, well, I hope you like your present. I know how you hate it when I used your computer for, well, recreational activities and it'd freeze sometimes.

Not my proudest moment but I figured you'd like this.

Once again, happy birthday, bro.

I'm sorry if I hurt you.

Dean.

Sam lets the tears fall as he reads and re- reads the letter. He smiles as he puts the letter aside and stares at the rectangular, regular box sized package in front of him.

Sam hesitates a few seconds before ripping off the brown paper. He stares in utter disbelief at the box in front of him. Dean got him a brand new laptop for his birthday.

A fucking laptop.

Sam studies the specs and he doesn't give a fuck that it isn't some top of the market brand. It doesn't matter to him. Dean had felt the need to give Sam something that would be useful to him.

Sam's heart breaks slightly. He can almost imagine the comments Dean would make seeing the expressions on Sam's face.

Knew you'd geek out over this.

I still get my porn privileges.

Geez, Sam, do you two need a room?

It's almost as if Sam can hear Dean right beside him, grinning happily at the look on Sam's face.

"Fuck," Sam breaks, a sob breaking through. He hugs the box as he rocks back and forth, missing his brother terribly.

What wouldn't he give to have Dean next to him right now?

After a few minutes, Sam takes deep breaths as he hastily wipes at his eyes. He opens up the box and lays out all the contents on his bed.

He runs his hands over the smooth exterior of the laptop and smiles.

It may be a fucked up birthday, but as always, Dean made it a little better. Dean always makes things better for him. Suddenly, it doesn't seem so bad.

He still misses his brother, he still feels like half of him is missing. He knows he's going to do all he can to get Dean out of hell.

But for now, he lets himself have this moment, knowing that Dean would love for him to be smiling on his birthday.

Sam composes himself as he boots up the laptop.

"Thanks, Dean," he whispers into the empty room, a ghost of a smile on his face.

END.

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