Sam Winchester, in reality, hasn't changed much aside from his brief stint drinking demon-blood and the year he was soulless. Which is why Dean doesn't trust it when Sam hands Dean a flimsy white box while hiding a grin.

Dean raises an eyebrow, "This isn't going to explode, is it?"

"No?"

The two brothers stare at each other. Sam looks like he's stifling a fit of laughter. He shifts the box around in his hands. It's not heavy, and it's not making any bomb-like noises. He lifts it to his ear. No ticking.

"Christ Dean, I'm not going to blow you up, just open it."

Dean stares at Sam. He's honestly not sure why he's so suspicious of this. Maybe it's because last time Dean checked they had absolutely zero reason to celebrate, unless Sam has gotten Dean a "Thanks for getting my soul back even though it could kill me" cake. Which is unlikely.

Dean sets the box on the table. It is a lot like the boxes they give out at bakeries for cake. He bought something like this for Ben once. A Hotwheels birthday cake. He glances at Sam, who's staring at him expectantly. He lifts open the lid. It is a cake. White frosting with varying colours of flowers decorating the corners, the whole deal. In flowerly writing, it reads "Happy birthday, Jensen."

"Dude, the hell?" Dean asks, because he is not following at all.

"When we were stuck in" Sam's brow furrows thoughtfully, "Whatever the hell you'd call it, I was looking us -well, alter-us- up. Turns out, it's Jensen Ackles birthday today. Happy not-birthday dude." Sam looks way to proud of it.

Dean stares. What? Dean was pretty sure their weird TV alternate universe thing was going to be filed under the 'Do not discuss unless apocolypse is looming'. Apparently not.

Sam shrugs unsurely under Dean's gaze, "Before you bitch me out, we haven't celebrated...well anything, in like forever. I figured this was a good enough excuse to eat some cake and get drunk." For a brief moment Dean can picture a floppy-haired, hoodie-clad Sam awkwardly rushing his way through the speech. And it makes him smile.

"God, you're such a girl Samantha."

"And you're a jerk, Dean."

"Bitch."

They're never going to be the way they were even three years ago, but Dean's not in Hell, Sam has a soul and is noteably also not in Hell, and as far as either brother is concerned, they'll consider this 'Being back'.

There's the sound of rushing air, and Dean whirls around. He'd know that noise anywhere.

"Dean, Sam, there is a problem"

"Cast-" Dean stops talking abruptly.

Castiel is, sure enough, standing in front of them and looking as bewildered as ever. It's a perfectly normal moment (Because apparently angels of the Lord popping in to say hello or cast them into alternate dimensions is totally normal), until Dean catches sight of what Castiel is wearing. The trench is still on, bulky and over-sized, but underneath is an unfamilar sight. A bright blue, cotton, sweater with a snowflakes patterened across the breast is where the usuall suit and tie should be. Almost like a certain twitter-happy actor they had met.

"Sam-" Dean isn't sure what to think. Maybe it's a prank, or some kind of not-birthday gift? God, Dean hopes so. If Castiel is going to develop a sense of style, it has got to better than this.

"I had nothing to do with this Dean."

Damnit.

Castiel looks at the two of them, takes note of their suprised and slightly amused expressions, and then glances at the table.

"Is that cake?"