Notes
Part of a 'verse where Sam was blinded at 13. This is his 14th birthday.
Dean deliberately made his voice as loud and brassy as possible. Thank goodness he was past puberty and his voice had stopped cracking.
"Happy birthday, to you! Happy birthday—"
"Dude, shut up!" Sam was covering his ears and scowling. Dean wasn't quite sure if there was a smile hidden underneath, so he jumped onto Sam's bed and shoved at Sam to test it.
"What're you doing, sleeping in, huh? It's your birthday! You know that means movies early in the morning."
"What good are movies that I can't watch?" Sam muttered. Dean bit his lip in frustration before grinning and allowing his fake enthusiasm to infuse his voice.
"You're not deaf, Sammy. And if you want, I'll describe what's going on to you."
"Yeah?" Sam asked slowly.
Dean cuffed him on the shoulder. "Yeah."
Sam sighed and was trying to look put-upon, Dean could tell. "Fine."
Two movies later, and Dean had Sam laughing at his ridiculous descriptions of the actors and actresses. So, success.
"What about we go get some ice cream?" he asked.
"Dad said not to leave the house," Sam reminded him.
"Since when are you the following-the-rules type?" Dean teased, nudging Sam's ribs and getting an actual, honest-to-goodness giggle out of his brother. He filed away that for later, that Sam's ticklish spots were still functioning.
"Fine then, let's go." Sam caught up his red and white cane and swept an arc, hitting Dean's shins.
"Hey!"
"Oops." Sam's lips were curled in a tiny grin, so Dean knew it was on purpose. He caught Sam by surprise, sweeping him up over his shoulder before his little brother could do anything. Dean stumbled slightly, but managed to not fall over. That would be embarrassing.
"Dean, put me down right now!"
Sam's voice squeaked at the end and Dean smirked.
"You may be fourteen, but that doesn't mean anything, little brother," he teased.
He only put Sam down when he received a knee in the chest. Dumping him unceremoniously on the bed, he rubbed his bruised chest and scowled.
"I'm not going to get you ice cream," he declared.
Sam gave him a pleading look. "But I really want some ice cream."
"And you just hit me," Dean pointed out.
"Please?" Then Sam grinned, the one with all the dimples, and Dean gave in with a sigh.
"The stuff I put up with," he grumbled half-heartedly. "C'mon, shrimp."
"I'll be taller than you, Dad said so," Sam protested.
"Keep dreaming," Dean returned, even though Sam was probably right. Not that Dean would ever admit it, under pain of death.
They got ice cream, vanilla for Sam (lame) and mint chocolate chip for Dean (obviously the best flavor ever).
"Dean, what color is the ice cream?" Sam asked randomly.
"Which one, yours or mine?"
"Yours."
"Light green, and the chocolate's dark brown." Dean threw his brother a sharp glance but kept his voice light. "Why?"
Sam bit his lip. "I keep forgetting. Colors, and . . . stuff."
Dean felt a flash of anger at the creature that did this to his brother, but squelched it underneath the knowledge that he could improve Sam's attitude.
"Well, you can feel things, right?" he said cheerfully, and shoved his ice cream cone at Sam's face.
His brother's splutter of indignation and the resultant wrestling match was well worth the loss of his ice cream cone and the amount of laundry they would have to do.
The rest of the day passed by pretty normally. Sam practiced his Braille and worked on his hitting technique. Dean cleaned the guns and read to Sam.
All in all, a fantastic day.
"Hey Sammy. Guess what time it is."
Sam's brow furrowed. "Night already? I didn't . . ." his hand fumbled to his wrist to open the clock face and feel the hands.
"No, moron. Presents, dude. What kind of teenager are you, you don't even want freaking gifts?"
Sam's smile was tentative and getting close to dimples. "What did I get?"
Dean nervously considered his own present and decided to give their Dad's first.
"Dad made this for you special. It's a new cane. Whole thing's made of some kind of light alloy. It's got cold iron coating on the top half, and unscrews and there's a silver blade inside."
Sam's smile was slightly brittle, but still remained intact. "Oh. That'll come in handy."
"Yeah." Dean passed it over, noting how Sam weighed it carefully. "It's a bit heavy, but you're strong."
He paused, then.
"So, you didn't get me anything?" Sam teased.
"I, uh, did. But if you don't want to, well, if you don't like it, just say so. Promise I won't care. Just got this in case you were interested."
Sam's eyebrows raised in amusement. "Am I ever going to get this mystery present?"
Dean hauled it over from the other bed and set it down next to Sam, who ran his lithe fingers over it, forehead creased in concentration.
"It's just a case of some kind. Is it a gun?" Sam guessed.
"No. Uh, open it." Dean leaned forward to help him out, but Sam had already found the latch and popped it open. His curious fingers reached in, and Dean held his breath as Sam brushed over the polished wood and strings.
"A guitar?" Sam asked. Dean listened closely for any sign of dislike or like, but Sam's voice was infuriatingly steady.
"Yeah. Uh, if you want. Mrs. Abrams, down the street, she teaches. If you want." Dean twisted his neck so he could examine Sam's face. Sam was getting pretty good at hiding his emotions, but Dean could always read him.
Still, he was pretty surprised when Sam launched himself at Dean. Dean only barely managed to keep him from going too far to the side and landing on the floor, but Sam trusted him to catch him, and that fact right there had Dean kind of choking up. Just a bit. That wasn't girly, that was normal. What older brother wouldn't feel like crying at the fact that his little brother was still alive and could still be happy despite being blind?
"Thanks, Dean," Sam mumbled into Dean's t-shirt. Dean felt like a million dollars and grinned, huge and wide, bringing up one of Sam's hands to feel it, getting to see his little brother echo it.
"Awesome. So let's try this puppy out, huh?"
Dean helped Sam figure out how to position it and then spent at least an hour cringing at how off-tune Sam was.
Sam was still smiling though, so it was all worth it.
Dean was half-heartedly trying the guitar out when Sam's expression suddenly slid away.
"Dean, how are you paying for this?"
Internally, he cursed. He had hoped Sam wouldn't think about it.
"Uh, got a job. It's no big deal."
Sam sat up straighter, eyes almost seeming to focus on Dean's position. "How can you work?" he asked sharply, "haven't you been going to school every day?"
"I . . . I dropped out," Dean admitted softly.
Sam's face spasmed. "Why would you do that?"
"S'not like they are going to teach me anything useful, Sammy. And this way I can help Dad with the bills."
Sam, for some reason, looked furious. "You shouldn't've done that, Dean. I . . . this is because of me, isn't it?" All too quickly, Sam's face looked guilty and pained.
"No, Sammy, I mean, what else could I do? I couldn't leave you alone that much, dude," Dean explained.
Sam's hands clenched and unclenched. "You are going to get your GED. Got it?"
"Bossy, aren't you?" Dean remarked idly, crisis averted. Mostly. Sam still looked far too close to anger, or worse, tears.
Sam brushed his fingers over his new guitar. "Don't screw up your own life for me, Dean. If you have to rationalize it by doing it for me, then do."
Dean scrunched up his nose. "What?"
Sam sighed, sounding a whole lot older than fourteen. "Just live, okay? Don't stop yourself from anything because of me. Promise?"
Dean really couldn't say no to that expression. "Fine, sheesh. You gonna mope all night or are we going to finish up your birthday party?"
Sam's smile came back in increments, before he grandly declared that he wanted cake.
Overall, Dean decided, it had been a good day.
A/N: I know I said I wouldn't be posting anymore Unseen until I finished House Rules, but hey, it's my birthday, I do what I want.
Appropriate fic, right?
So send me a birthday present! (ie reviews).
ps: I love you guys