Last year John nearly forgot Dean's birthday. Not in an "I don't care about my first-born's birthday" sort of way, rather in a "Police were on my ass two states back after burning a corpse and I've been running on fumes driving us away from there" way. It could have been Monday or Friday for all John had known. Dean's birthday would've been on a Sunday somewhere in there. Fourteen. Old enough to watch Sammy for a few days; old enough to pack for them both when he knocked and said,
"Everyone and everything out and in the Impala in three minutes."
He had driven south away from the snow that was blanketing the entire northeast of America by late January. So it was while John had been somewhere in North Carolina, when he saw cars filling the parking lots of churches that were littered on every corner in the state, that he realized it was Sunday, and his eldest's birthday.
With both boys asleep in the backseat, Dean against the window and Sam curled over Dean's legs, John decided to pull over at the nearest diner open for Sunday brunch and give the birthday boy something to eat that wasn't fast food or Kraft. Dean had woken up first at John's nudge and "Happy Birthday, Dean-o." Dean pinched Sam's cheek and got him to wake up after two feeble swats at his head. Sam sat up with a yawn and what could've been a hawk's next sticking up on his head that Dean had to smooth down before they could go in anywhere public.
When he flattened down his little brother's hair, Dean smiled at his father's words. For a moment Dean thought he'd forgotten, but nope, his Dad wished him a happy birthday even before Sammy.
"Oh! It's the 24th! Happy Birthday! Did I sleep the entire drive? I was going to sing 'Happy Birthday' to you in Latin at midnight," Sam prattled on. Dean smiled and said,
"Yeah, you were passed out by ten; one of the quietest legs of the drive we've had in a while."
Yeah, Cause I put Benodryl in your drink, John thought. He told them to run inside and take a leak before getting out himself and taking a seat in one of the diner's booths which was fire engine red and had fiber fill gaping out on the half closest to the window. Asking a busty brunette who was obviously a waitress by her uniform that was equally as red as the seat, John had asked if they had any cake, preferably chocolate or strawberry, and she replied that, "No" they didn't have any cake, rather "Some of the best Apple Pie in the Blue Ridge Mountains."
John asked about ice cream—the other birthday food.
"Not in January."
John sighed and ordered an entire pie to be brought out at the end of the meal along with a large black coffee to start with. Eggs and ham were for his boys. Dean's face lit up in surprise when an entire pie was brought out after he ate his breakfast.
"Aren't we supposed to have cake?" Sam asked.
"Nah, Sammy, pie is better anyway," John replied, breaking up a butter scotch candy stick and making impromptu candles.
"What about presents for Dean?" Sam asked.
"Sammy, don't be rude," Dean hissed. If Dean could have one thing for his birthday it would be for Sam and his Dad to get along. He was just happy Dad had remembered his birthday with all the crap that had happened in the past week; he didn't need any presents. A whole pie was present enough and more than he got last Christmas.
"Well I got you a new cord for your necklace since you have to keep reknotting the cheaper leather you're wearing now," Sam glared at his father, brunch had cost more than the cord, but he had hoped Dean could see his gift had more sentiment attached.
That was last year's birthday.
This year, Sam has a great idea for Dean's fifteenth birthday. He has to keep it to himself though, or his dad would use what precious little money he has saved in an old wool sock for silver to melt into bullets. Ever since Tony Baker's birthday party eight moves ago, Sam has been saving and getting satisfaction out of feeling the weight of his duffle bag grow heavier and heavier with coins he'd collected from odd jobs such as shoveling icy driveways and even an entire parking lot in West Virginia (which seemed to never use snow plows).
Tony Baker had got one of the coolest things Sam had ever seen: a cake in the shape of Superman's emblem, with red and yellow frosting, and a scrumptious chocolate center. Sam's hope was to get a real birthday cake for dean this year. His older brother loved food, but didn't get to eat nearly enough non-gas station purchased junk food as teenagers his age should. He deserved more, Sam thought.
Now, with his birthday only five days away and both on a hunting trip, outside Lebanon, Kansas, Sam hoped he could get Dean a super cake. Sam didn't know anything about cooking food that didn't need a microwave or boiling water, so he knew he'd have to find a bakery that would make the cake for him. The only Piggly Wiggly in walking distance wanted to charge him 30 dollars for a Superman cake, and wouldn't even consider making it in a smaller size for Sam, like a cupcake.
There was a private bakery four miles from their apartment; so with his hood pulled close to his ears and hands thrust inside his pockets, Sam went out into the cold. It shouldn't be too bad a walk, he told himself, Dad's had us run this far in 87 degree weather. By the time he saw the bakery his school bus passed each morning, Sam's toes were numb and his teeth vibrating a 6 on the Ritcher scale. The smell of warm pastries and cinnamon buns wafted out as he pulled the door open. Sam seemed to be the only one in there until a portly henna-hair-dyed woman stood up from behind the toffee counter.
"Well, hello there, young man," she said in a voice sweet as the toffees looked, "is there something I can help you with?"
Pausing for a moment to regain control of his clicking jaw, Sam said, "I need a cake for a few days from now."
"What kind are ya lookin' for?" she asked.
"Could you maybe, um, possibly do one that looks like Superman's chest?"
"Do you mean his emblem or his actual chest? 'Cause I can do both!"
Sam smiled shyly at the woman's attitude, "Just the emblem."
"Alright then, sugar."
She pulls out a carbon paper order form, "What flavor you lookin' for? Here," she doesn't give him time to answer before walking behind a different counter, "you can sample these different basic flavors I had left over from a wedding sampling earlier. Would you like that?"
"Yes...please!" Sam replies gaily. After he tried a dark red and spongey cake, Sam decides nothing on earth could possibly taste better than red velvet. He looks down at the order form; which now had a smattering of chocolate icing on it. Dean's cake would still only be a few dollars less than the grocery store cake. Disheartened, Sam weighs the sock full of dollar bills and coins hidden in his hoodie.
"I don't suppose you have any discounts or deals going on right now," Sam ventured, "Like for Martin Luther King Day or something? I really need this for my brother, but the most I have is $25." Sam usually stared at the ground out in public or at school, but here he raised his face in order to give this lady puppy eyes that melted into his chubby cheeks and shaggy hair. This isn't going to be enough, Sam thought.
"It's for my brother, he—he just got out of the hospital." Dad always told Sam the best lies had grains of truth in them—but to never try it on him or Dean. Dean was in the hospital two weeks ago, but for a tetanus shot after catching his toe on a rusty nail. However, the way Sam spoke, he made it sound like he had cancer.
The cake lady never stood a chance.
"Oh, you sweet thing," she cooed, "Let me see what I can do. Does your brother like any heroes besides Superman?" She ventured after a minute.
"Yeah, sure," Sam answered slowly.
"I've got a mess o' excess black icing, from that wedding I was tellin' ya 'bout—seems to me this couple was Goth or something—but instead of wasting it, I could make ya a Batman bat cake. That should knock off 5 dollars or so."
Sam's cheeks rose. He and Dean played Superman and Batman all the time. Well, whenever dean wasn't busy with Dad's orders. But if his cake had to represent any other hero, Bruce Wayne was his guy.
"That would be awesome," Sam squeaks. After handing his sock over to the lady, Sam got a receipt to pick-up on Dean's birthday. A red velvet bat cake—Sam couldn't picture anything more perfect for his big brother. The walk back didn't seem so cold.
"What'cha grinning for, Sammy?" Dean asked when he and Dad return.
"Nothin', just a productive day."
Dean smiles at seeing Sam happy, "Hunt was productive, too, Dad's happy."
"So we're leaving?" Sam panicks.
"No, we've just got all the info we need for this ghost hunt. Thing should try killin' again in twelve days."
Sam breathes a sigh of relief, his family was staying through Dean's birthday.
On Dean's birthday, Sam sneaks out of his room via his window, although it was ipso facto a snug fit. The walk to the bakery doesn't take as long because Sam's practically running over the icy pathways. When the kind lady pulls out Dean's cake from a box so Sam could take a look, he was in the same amount of awe as he had been at Tony Baker's birthday party. The black bat looked almost real. As unappealing as black icing would be to most people, Sam knew Dean would love it; especially seeing as he loves both food and DC Comics.
Thanking the baker profusely, Sam leaves and begins a careful trek back towards the apartment. On mile two, the cake gained a couple pounds in Sam's tiny arms, though that doesn't stop his plowing through the snow. On mile three, Sam smiles because he only has a few more blocks to walk straight down. Two blocks from the apartment, one of Sam's sneakers that were worn out and had minimal tread left slipped on a patch of ice. Down the poor boy went; butt first.
He lets out a cry when his tailbone broke his fall. The box in his arms slid off and skidded to a stop about five feet away from him.
"No," Sam whispers, "no no no no no, don't be squashed, please don't be squashed," Sam pleads to no one.
Sliding over Sam slowly opens the box's top to assess the damage. The hard decorator's icing was strong, however there were two big cracks in the hard icing. The red velvet cake made it look like the bat was bleeding. Sam was disappointed but he knew it could've been worse. Working his knees under him and against the hard ground, he picks up the box and stands slowly, ready to resume his return. Sam doesn't really know when he gets back to their tiny apartment building. Should he try to climb the fire escape he crawled down from? Everything below his ribcage feels like a giant bruise, and Sam doesn't want to risk dropping the cake again. But if he went to the front door, Dad would probably answer and not appreciate Sam sneaking out.
He gulps, the last time either brother had been spanked was when Dean snuck out to CBGBs; Sam had known and not gone straight to Dad, who always wanted his boys in his line of sight when he was home.
Around the back of the building; to the right of the fire escape stairs, there was a big blue dumpster. Maybe he could hide the cake in there until Dad left?
"What's up, bitch?" Dean's deep voice from behind him pulls Sam from his thoughts; twitchy hands brought the cake box to the ground once more.
"Crap! Shit, dammit!" Sam yells and Dean jumps.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Dean jogs up.
Sam could feel cold tears threatening to fall behind his eyes. He crouches down but throws his hands up at his brother, "No, Dean! Don't look!"
"You got a surprise for me?" Dean smiles lopsidedly, but keeps his brow furrowed at Sam's distress.
"No—yes—crap!" Sam stutters.
Dean stands a few feet away with arms crossed over his chest, "Nah, I don't want shit for my birthday, how 'bout something less smelly?"
"It's ruined!" Sam cries out. The bleeding bat cake was now a lumpy mess on the inside top of the cake box. Sam tries not to cry, he really does; crying was for babies, Dad always said. However, he starts sobbing.
Dean kneels over his little brother and rubs his back soothingly, "Hey, what is all this?" Dean flipped the now soaked box over and assesses at the mess inside, "Kind of looks like all those Gamecock painted brick walls we saw on that case in South Carolina, huh?"
"It was supposed to be a special Batman cake for your birthday," the words now felt like acid on Sam's tongue. What had he been thinking? Dean didn't even like cake as much as he enjoyed pie, and just because Sam liked the red velvet cake didn't mean Dean wouldn't find it disgusting.
The black icing suddenly looked like ectoplasm covering bloody corpse.
"Doesn't matter, it's all going the same place," Dean says from behind him.
"The garbage can?"
"Hell, no!" Dean actually sounded affronted, "My mouth, my esophagus, my stomach, through some other wriggly bits I can't remember the names of, and then finally out my—"
Sam snorts, "It's freezing out here, we should take it inside."
"Why? I gotta fork right here," Sam turns around and watches as Dean pulls a plastic fork out of his jacket pocket. "Nah, Dad's inside, and I'm guessing he didn't give you the money for this?"
Sam shakes his head.
Digging his fork into the disemboweled bat, Dean takes out a chunk and stuck it into his mouth.
"Mmm," he moans obscenely, "It's worth possible frostbite."
"Happy Birthday, Dean," Sam tells him, smiling.
The boys didn't find themselves back in Lebanon, Kansas until many years later; after an almost apocalypse, a year spent soulless, and months of hunting leviathans. The Men of Letters Bunker was a safe place they could relax, do research, and for Dean, cook. When Cas lost his grace and finally made his way to get a shower with good water pressure and a decent burger (at least in Dean's opinion), Dean wanted to make something special for him. Dean was stressed as it was having an angel secretly possessing his brother, so baking helped calm him down as it had in the few domestic relationships he's been in. Dean let Cas and Sam (Zeke still needed sustenance to heal Sammy, right?) eat their dinner while he put the finishing touches on dessert.
Food coloring got the cream cheese icing a dark navy, nearly black color and Dean spread copious amounts over the cake he planned on giving Cas to celebrate his return.
When he was finally finished, Dean stepped back to admire his work. He based the idea on the tasty Batman cake Sam had bought for him when he was younger. Black angel wings concealing a fluffy red velvet center stared up at Dean from the baking tray. He smirked, he could run a cooking show from the bunker; maybe call it The Hunter, The Fallen Angel, The Secret Angel, and The Prophet Learn to Nest. Of course, that's a working title. Dean carefully picked up the tray and carried it out to the table.
Castiel looked nostalgically at the angel wing cake, "You know I don't have wings anymore, right Dean?"
"Yeah, neither do a lot of other angel's as of late. I dunno, it just seemed—fitting somehow."
Kevin smirked, "It smells good, you should eat a slice in front of Crowley."
Leaning across the table, Sam picked up a knife and began to cut into the cake; barking out a laugh when he saw what color the cake part was.
"Bring back memories, Sammy?"
"A few."
"Looks like the angel's bleeding," Cas remarked morbidly.
"Don't worry Cas, you're safe here. We'll get your wings back somehow." Dean said.
Unfortunately that night Ezekiel informed him the human angel would have to go. Dean hated making Cas leave, but he made sure to send him on his way with the rest of the cake in the tupperware.