A/N: Previously posted on my AO3 page.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.
They never mentioned it, but they both knew what the day was. It was always slightly different each year – sometimes they were on a case, sometimes they were just finding somewhere to stay until the next one came around. Maybe they were enjoying some quiet time, where they could pull off the side of the road to sit on the hood of the Impala and drink a beer. Whatever the situation, there was always a slight change in their moods on that day.
Dean was always quieter. Sam had brought it up only once when they were young and he didn't want to relive that conversation at any point. Dean wouldn't have snapped at him intentionally, but it had happened too quickly and Sam had retreated away, upset because he had upset Dean. Dean made it up to Sam later that same day, but they never spoke about it again.
The day always passed slower than most did. Sam knew that Dean's mind was always elsewhere on that particular day, even though Dean wouldn't admit it. He acted like he usually did. If they were working, he would focus on the case. If they were having a day off, he would do the usual things – drag Sam for some food, play some loud music, make the odd joke. Sam will laugh with him, roll his eyes at Dean ordering near enough the same food he always ate and nod along with the songs that were blaring out of the speakers of the Impala. He'd let Dean think that Sam didn't know what he did after the night came on that day every year.
They would find a motel and set up camp for however long their stay was going to be. Sam would let Dean pick whichever bed he wanted and throw his jacket on the other one. He'd always bring his laptop in from the trunk of the Impala and sit at the table, either researching or finding something mindless to do on the internet. He'd let Dean think he was busy, even though sometimes he was just playing Solitaire. He'd listen to Dean say he was going for a drink and Sam would let him go alone, knowing that Dean needed the time alone that night.
So Dean will slip out of whatever motel they're staying in that day. He'll get in the Impala and turn the radio on, hearing the music but not actually listening to it. He'll find the nearest bar and go inside, getting himself a tumbler of whiskey. He'll sit in a quiet corner, away from the eyes of the regular patrons that decorate the bar and the people from the town, where he can observe them all from a distance. He'll wait until he knows he isn't being watched and then delve into the pocket of the jeans he's wearing, pulling out his slightly battered wallet. He'll pull the picture out from one of the hidden slots inside, looking at the tattered corners that the picture has from being kept safely inside it for so long. He'll let a ghost of a smile creep onto his lips while he looks at the picture. Memories will slip into his mind and remind him of some of the few happier times he had in his life. He'll hold his glass up as he remembers and quietly so only he and the picture can hear and speak the one of the only things that remains the same every time the day comes around.
"Happy birthday, mom."
He'll down the glass, put the picture away and leave. He'll go back to the motel and Sam. He'll climb into the bed with the scratchy sheets that never feel welcoming no matter where they stay. He'll turn over; mutter something about the town or the case if they're working one. Sam will look at his brother from his laptop, nod even though Dean can't see him and go back to whatever he's doing. Dean will push the memories that came with the picture away, shutting his eyes tight.
And Sam won't mention it the following day, but Dean always hums 'Hey Jude' while he's falling asleep.