Title: Maybe Just This Once
E/O Word: Bill and Flag
Word Count: 300
A/N: Thank God Dean cant hold a gun a grocery bag while opening a door. A one legged Sam is a sad Sam. ;) Happy Birthday!
Something strange is happening. Sam's keeping secrets and disappearing more, too. Dean can't even snag his phone to inspect the call list. Red flags are flying.
Maybe if he hadn't been thrown into a tree like a goddamn piece of confetti he wouldn't be so paranoid. He reminds himself that his right arm is in a cast and if Sam so much as tries anything he can knock his lights out with one swing of his improvised weapon.
When Sam tells him to go to the store get liquor, he's more than happy to oblige. It might be a trap, but hell it's an excuse to breathe fresh air. The walk reminds him how badly he is aching for action in every sense of the word. Dean scowls at the liquor store bill; it's just long enough to make him think that he just mightbe drinking too much. Maybe. Then he notices the date and stops just short of their motel room.
It's his birthday. It is truly absolutely without doubt that day he came into the world with fists swinging. Maybe it was the pain killers, maybe it was the 24hour concussion, but he forgot. "Fuck!" He stares up at the motel door in absolute terror. Sam had to know he hated big parties. Sam just had to know that he liked things quiet. But this was Sam. There is without doubt some ungodly horror waiting for him on the other side. With shaking hands, he opens the door with the caution of a practiced hunter. It's dark and quiet as steps inside. When he flips the switch someone shouts, "SURPRISE!"
The cake, the banner, Bobby, Ellen, Jo—Sam was a dead man. Unless, the cake was double fudge with butterscotch icing. Then he'd have to make an exception. Maybe.