It's the smell of fresh coffee that slowly awakes Dean. He rubs his eyes, slightly wondering if he spent the night in the kitchen. It wouldn't be the first time he passed out after one drink too many. When he feels the mattress under him and the warmth of his blanket, he opts for the obvious answer: he's in his bed. He stretches, then he notices something laid on the nightstand. He gropes for the bedside lamp and turns it on. What Dean sees makes his eyes grow wide. Next to him, on the nightstand, there's breakfast on a tray. Toasts, scrambled eggs, a slice of pie, a glass of orange juice and a big cup of coffee that would explain the delicious smell.
"What the-"
Dean sits up in his bed, eyes fixed on what is apparently supposed to be his breakfast. Confused about why Sam would do this, he notices a small card behind the tray. He picks it up and reads what's definitely Sam's handwriting.
" Happy Birthday, bro. Love ya. "
Shit. He completely forgot. Today's January, 24th and he just turned 37. Oh, well...
Dean sighs. In spite of everything, all the crap they've been through, all the horror they have to witness and deal with everyday, Sam still remembers his birthday. It's been years since he did more than buy him a drink, though. Dean's not sure he really likes being treated like a little princess, even on his birthday. Especially on his birthday. The food does look good, though. And smells amazing. Dean takes the tray and lays it in front of him on the bed. Sammy did put a lot of effort to please him. It would be a shame to waste all of this.
"Happy Birthday to me, I guess."
Dean takes the fork laid on the tray and digs into the pie.
When he walks into the map room with his empty tray in hand, Sam's reading one of those huge Men of Letters books. He startles when Dean speaks.
"Breakfast in bed, Sammy? Did I turn into your wife overnight?"
Sam turns to Dean and sees his smirk.
"You're welcome."
"Seriously, Sam, you didn't have to," Dean adds as he puts the tray on the table.
"Well, you are an old man now. I figured you could use a little love and caring."
Dean gently bumps into Sam before sitting on the next chair. He stretches again, then glances at the book.
"Anything on how to kill the Darkness?"
Sam closes the book, dust flying all around them.
"Nothing. Which means we won't have to go to war any time soon and that we'll be able to spend a relaxing birthday for once."
Dean rolls his eyes.
"Amara's out there, Sam. Scheming the next Apocalypse. I don't think spending the day baking a birthday cake is the smart option here."
"Amara's been M.I.A for the past two weeks. We got no case so far, and you're still worn out from our last hunt. We need a day off. We deserve a day off."
Dean sighs. "So what are you suggesting? Blowing candles and singing songs?"
"Actually...I thought of something else. As a gift," Sam says, embarrassed.
"What's that?"
Sam's cheeks turn red, his eyes carefully avoiding Dean.
"Sammy?"
Sam clears his throat and speaks awkwardly.
"I plan on giving you a post-painful hunt massage."
Dean suddenly bursts into laughter.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm serious, Dean. You keep complaining about the pain in your back and shoulders."
Deans stops laughing, yet not really convinced that Sam isn't pulling his leg.
"You do realize that I'm not your hot girlfriend, right?"
"Doesn't have to be a chick to get a massage."
Dean stares at Sam, completely taken aback by the suggestion.
"Sammy, it's me, okay? Your big brother. You know me. When have I ever been into this kind of girly things?"
"You're not into it because you've never gotten one, Dean. Trust me, it's awesome. It'll relax you."
"Dude, come on. I'm not doing this."
"Dean."
"Since when do you pretend to be a physiotherapist anyway?"
"Since I dated one?"
Dean huffs and passes a hand through his hair nervously.
"It'll be uncomfortable."
"I swear it won't. I'm not planning on rubbing oil on your naked body, Dean. I'm just gonna relax your back and shoulders. It'll do you good."
"Getting hammered with you in a bar would have worked just fine."
Sam smiles. He knows Dean is surrendering.
"Come on. Are you in?"
Dean sighs again, hesitates for almost a minute, then nods.
"Fine. But make it quick."
Sam gets up, proud of himself.
"Good. My bed or yours?"
"Sammy!", Dean almost screams, jumping out of his chair.
Sam laughs.
"Just kidding. We'll go wherever you feel the most comfortable."
Dean feels utterly lost and confused. This was the weirdest birthday.
"Huh...then...on my bed, I guess."
Sam pats him on the shoulder.
"Your bed it is."
When Dean takes his shirt off and lies flat on his stomach on the bed, he wonders what the hell he's gotten himself into.
"Get comfortable, birthday boy."
"Okay, Sam, I'm warning you. One more sentence that seems to be from a gay porn movie coming out of your mouth and I'm outta here."
Sam chuckles, climbing with Dean on the bed.
"I'm just gonna massage you here, here and here," Sam explains by touching Dean's neck, shoulders and back.
"No monkey business?"
Sam rolls his eyes.
"Dean, you're my big brother. I can assure you that I don't have any desire to get a boner out of you."
Dean rests his chin on his forearms.
"Good."
Sam stretches and puts his hands on Dean's shoulders.
The first couple of minutes feels weird. Uncomfortable, even. For both of them. Yet, Sam can tell that Dean is already relaxing as his whole body is floppy.
Neither of them makes a sound. Sam massages Dean in silence, focusing on the spots he knows are always tensed and painful. He's good at this. He lets his hands run up and down Dean's back, he presses, unknots, kneads on the hard shoulders. He can feel his brother's skin getting warmer and warmer under his rubbing. Sam finds the whole thing strangely relaxing, even for himself.
Suddenly, after a few minutes, Sam hears a faint sniffle. As Dean's face is hidden in the crook of his arms, Sam thinks he probably has some trouble breathing properly, that's all. He lets it go. A few seconds later, Dean sniffles again, the sound unmistakable this time. Sam immediately stops what he's doing.
"Dean? Are you crying?"
No response. Just another sniffle. Confused, Sam softly strokes Dean's back.
"Hey..."
Dean lets out a strangled sob, then a hiccup. Sam feels his heart break.
"Hey, Dean... I'm so sorry. We can stop. Do you want me to stop?"
Dean doesn't speak but he shakes his head.
Sam gets what is happening. He finally found out how to have his brother let go, release the tension. He reached something inside Dean that had been hidden and repressed for so long. How long has it been since Dean was taken care of? Spoiled? Relieved of his responsibilities? Sam knows it comes back to a time that he himself was too young to remember.
"Okay, Dean. I'm not gonna say a word from now on. If you want me to stop, just tell me, alright?" Sam says softly.
Dean nods again, face still hidden as he cries. His shoulders are shaking under the sobs now. Sam goes on with the massage, thinking of how much his brother needed it. How much pain, stress and tension were trapped inside those muscles, inside that body. He'd like to purify Dean from all his sadness, guilt and pressure. All of those destroying, pent-up feelings that have kept growing in his soul since their mother died. Sam knows that a massage won't heal Dean. But for now, he's letting go, unashamed. He's relaxing, a little bit of that unbearable weight finally leaving his shoulders.
Sam keeps going for over an hour, even after Dean's sobs stopped. When his hands and arms feel numb, he slowly lets go of his brother. Dean doesn't move. His breathing is regular and soft. Sam can see his tear-streaked yet relaxed face turned to the side. Dean's asleep. And he seems peaceful for once. Sam smiles. He slowly bends toward Dean and kisses his nape gently. Then he gets off the bed, turns the light off and leaves the bedroom.
When Dean joins him in the map room, it's 5pm.
"Sammy," he whispers.
He seems awkward and grateful at the same time. Sam smiles at him.
"Hey, Dean, what do you say we drive to a nice bar and have burgers and a few drinks?"
Dean smiles back at him, eyes soulful and loving.
"Deal."