Author's Note: And here it is… The first of my S10 post-finale fics. There are going to be at least two more (one as a birthday present and one little idea I've been tossing around about the nature of the Darkness) over the next few weeks. Also, my Big Bang posting date is June 15, so there's that to look forward to.

For anyone who's interested, my beta and good friend Cheryl has started a petition to bring back the early-season dynamic of Supernatural. If you want to know more, the link is in my profile.

Many thanks to Cheryl for her work on this.

Enjoy the story!

Summary: Set a little after the S10 finale. While working a case, Dean realizes Sam's birthday was a disaster (again) and sets about trying to make amends.

Warnings: Really, really shameless schmoop, because come on, we need it after the finale.

Spoilers: Through to the end of S10.

Violet Ribbon

"That'll be eighty-two dollars and forty cents."

Dean put a couple of fifties on the counter. "Can you wrap it?"

The woman at the desk nodded, pointing at a rack behind him. "Pick your paper." Dean reached out blindly, grabbing something in pink with little ponies on it. The woman raised an eyebrow, mouth going into a thin line. "I hope you're not planning to give this book to a child. It's really not appropriate."

"Yeah? Full of Ancient Greek shenanigans?" Dean asked, grinning. "Don't worry. It's for my brother."

Her face cleared. She took the paper from Dean, unrolling it and cutting it expertly. "Special occasion?"

"Yeah, it's his birthday… Well, it was his birthday. That… Didn't go down too well."

"You forgot?"

"You could say that. And… we got into a fight, and I said some pretty horrible things. Oh, we're good now, he knows I didn't mean them, but… I wanted to make up for it, you know?"

"I'm sure he'll appreciate this gift, then. It's one of the few extant facing-page translations from the seventeen hundreds." She taped the wrapping paper down. "Do you want a ribbon on it?"

"Yes. And a bow." Dean smirked at her. "Just because I'm sorry I was a jerk doesn't mean I can't yank his chain a bit, right?"

She laughed. "Let me guess. He's your little brother?"

"How did you know?"

"I have one myself. I think I know just the ribbon you need." She rummaged under the desk, finally pulling out something in violet with large gold hearts. "It's very popular among four-year-olds."

"That's perfect." Dean watched her loop the ribbon around the package a couple of times before tying a complicated bow. "Thank you. Hey, you know a place around here where I can get some decent cake?"

"Agent Willis," Sam said, flashing his badge. "Are you Mrs. Schultz? Mr. Kramer sent me to speak to you."

"Sure. What can I help you with, agent?"

"I need access to all your records about Marissa Keith."

"Marissa Keith? You mean… You're looking into that? But it's been so long!"

"Thirteen years," Sam confirmed. "But we had a tip-off at the Bureau. We may have some leads. Can you help me?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, of course! Have a seat, I'll make copies for you."

On his way out of the bookstore, Dean fumbled his cell phone from his pocket and called Sam.

Sam picked up on the first ring.

"Dean? What's up? You find out anything from Marissa's cousin?"

Dean gave a guilty start. He'd been meant to go to the bookstore and question the owner about her cousin's mysterious disappearance, and he'd taken that job precisely because he'd known that Sam would get distracted by the books and end up chatting with her about Attic poetry or whatever and not getting any research done.

Well, they could always go back later and talk about Marissa Keith. She'd been missing for thirteen years, another day wasn't going to make any difference.

Sam deserved something nice.

He hefted the book in his hand. "Yeah, about that… I think you need to come up here, kiddo."

"What? Why?"

"There's… there's something you need to see. About the case."

"Well, what is it?"

"Look, I can't explain over the phone. Just get up here, OK? I'll be in…" Dean looked around. "I'll be in the Oak Ridge Motel."

"Wait, what's going on? What aren't you telling me?"

"Just get here, Sammy."

Dean ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. Sam was in the next town over, and he worried about speed limits and crap like that so Dean had, maybe, an hour, hour and a half. None too much time for what he wanted to do.

Sam stared at the phone for a second, brow furrowing in bewilderment. Dean had sounded weird. For a moment Sam had thought maybe some bad guy had a gun to his head, but Dean hadn't given him the code word for that, and… He hadn't sounded worried, either.

He'd sounded excited.

Sam really hoped Dean wasn't going to try to set him up for a one-night stand with Marissa's cousin. That would just be awkward.

He shrugged, shoving his phone in his pocket. There was nothing else for it, he'd just have to go find out.

He stepped back inside the school office.

"Agent," Mrs. Schultz said. "Just a moment, I'm about done."

"That's great. So this is all Marissa's records?"

"Everything we have." The computer dinged. She pulled the flash drive out and gave it to Sam. "She was a really sweet girl, you know? I'm glad you've decided to reopen her case. Broke everyone's hearts, not knowing what happened to her. I hope you can give us some closure."

"I hope so, too." Sam smiled at her. "Thank you, you've been very helpful."

He went outside.

"You want me to write something on it?"

"Happy birthday, Sammy. Don't forget the comma, he'll bitch about it for weeks if it's not there."

The baker shrugged and grabbed the icing nozzle. "Whatever you say, man. Green OK?"

"Sure."

His hand moved over the cake, forming the words and adding a couple of loops and twirls.

"You want candles to go with it?"

"Yeah, give me a box."

Sam braked just in time to keep from crashing into the tree.

He'd taken a different route going back, hoping this one would be shorter. Dean hadn't sounded like anything was wrong; all the same, Sam was a little worried. It wasn't like him to be so mysterious.

And the route had been shorter – until Sam came to the tree.

It was huge, and it was blocking most of the road. It was a sign of how little this road was used that there wasn't traffic backed up for miles – unfortunately. Backed-up traffic would have registered on GPS.

Sam sighed and put the car in reverse.

He was going to have to go almost all the way back to find a detour.

Dean wasn't sure how he managed to open the motel room door while holding Sam's present, the cake, the box of candles, and a little bag of balloons, but he did it.

The room was small. The twin beds were narrow and the tiny coffee table had a couple of chairs that looked like they'd fall over if he or Sam tried to sit in them.

Dean would make it work.

He set everything down on the coffee table and glanced at his watch. He had another twenty minutes, less if Sam drove quickly. He'd have to hurry.

Sam's phone rang.

He pulled onto the shoulder to answer it. Dean would never let him hear the end of it if he crashed the Impala because he was talking and driving.

"Yeah?"

"Is that Agent Wilson?" a female voice asked.

"Agent Willis. Who is this?"

"I'm sorry, Agent Willis. This is Melody Kramer – Ben's wife. I – he told me you were by the school today. I think – I think there's something I need to tell you." She drew a shaky breath. "About Marissa. Can you meet me at the café next to the school?"

"Sure, I'm on my way."

Sam ended the call and pulled up Dean's number. It rang four times before it rolled to voicemail.

Sam shrugged. Dean was probably flirting with the bookstore woman.

He sent his brother a quick text to let him know he'd be a while and headed back towards the school.

Dean wasn't out of shape – far from it. He might not be a fitness freak like Sam, but hunting gave him more than enough of a workout.

All the same, he was wheezing and out of breath by the time he'd blown up the last of the balloons.

He tied it off and dropped it on the bed, relieved – and a little amazed – that he'd managed to get them all done and the room set up before Sam came.

Then he caught sight of the time and frowned. Sam respected speed limits, yeah, but unless he'd decided to save the Impala's engine and hook the car up to a mule train, he should've been here at least an hour ago.

Dean grabbed his phone and saw a missed call from Sam. There was a text, too.

I'll be late – getting intel.

Dean scowled.

"I know I should have said something," Melody sobbed. "But I was so scared."

"I understand." Sam passed her a tissue. "I promise nobody's going to hold you responsible. It's a natural reaction to be afraid."

"But I should be better than that! I was responsible for those girls."

Sam reached out to pat the woman's hand gently. "You're doing the right thing now. That's a big step."

It was when his fourth call to Sam's phone went to voicemail that Dean began to worry.

Maybe Sam was in trouble.

Maybe Sam had been kidnapped.

Maybe Sam wasn't coming.

It was the last of those thoughts that made him stop short, looking around the motel room. His cake and present and sad little heap of balloons seemed suddenly pathetic, inadequate, too little to make up to Sam for what Dean had almost done – for what Dean had done. He'd offered his little brother to Death, he'd set Sam up, he'd said Sam was evil just to get him to say yes. Just to get his permission for Dean to kill him, because Dean hadn't wanted to live with the guilt. He'd needed Sam to say it was OK, so he'd put the burden on Sammy to say the world was better off without him.

And all because Sammy wouldn't give up on him.

When Dean had thought Sam had given up on him when he'd been in Purgatory, he'd complained and made Sam's life miserable for months, and when Sam had said he wouldn't give up on him, Dean had decided that meant Sam needed to die.

No wonder Sam wasn't coming.

Sam probably thought this was another trick, maybe Dean was having second thoughts or something.

Dean picked up his phone again.

Sam stumbled out of the café. It had taken him a while to get the information from Melody Kramer, and longer to calm her down afterwards.

Dean was probably going to be frantic. Ever since the thing with Death, Dean had been even more overprotective than usual, as though he thought there was some sort of cosmic big brother ledger and he had to get back in the black.

It was stupid.

Sure, it had hurt that Dean could talk about killing Sam that casually, but Sam knew it had been the Mark talking. The real Dean would never kill him – the real Dean had killed Death to protect him. Sam would never blame him for what hadn't been under his control.

But Dean still seemed to think he had something to prove – to the world, to Sam, Sam didn't know.

He took out his phone to call his brother –

And cursed when the screen refused to light up. He should've charged it in the morning. Dean was going to nag him about that.

Dean looked forlornly around the room.

He'd tried to calm himself by going and getting some streamers and putting them up, but they just made everything look sadder. Here he was, stuck alone in a fleabag motel in the middle of nowhere, and his little brother didn't trust him anymore. And he was trying to cheer himself up by spelling out dirty words on the wall with streamers.

He was such a loser.

There had to be some way he could contact Sam… Or track him down, or something.

Right. He needed to think like Sam. If he were a geek and suspected that someone was trying to lure him into a trap, what would he do?

He'd go scope out their place and see what they were doing.

Dean let out a breath. Was that it? Was Sam outside, waiting to see if this was some kind of trap, again? Maybe waiting to see if Dean came out with a shotgun?

Carefully, Dean divested himself of all his weapons, even the knife he kept tucked in his boot. He slipped out of his jacket, so Sam would know he was unarmed, and went outside.

"Sammy?" he called, holding up empty hands so Sammy could see them, wherever he was watching from. "Sammy, it's not a trick, I promise. You want to come out now? I have something for you."

A couple of passersby looked at him weirdly, but there was no answer from his brother.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled louder. "Come on, kiddo, you know I would never hurt you!"

Still nothing.

Dean sank dejectedly onto the front step.

Sam glanced at his watch again. It had been almost four hours since he'd spoken to Dean.

His brother was going to be worried. Or pissed. Maybe a bit of both.

The sign for Oak Ridge Motel came up. With a sigh of relief, Sam pulled into the lot. It was empty, for the most part – just one car in front of a cabin at the far end.

A quick look around revealed Dean sitting outside one of the cabins. His chin was resting on his knees, and he looked completely miserable.

Sam's eyebrows went up.

That wasn't like Dean. If Dean was worried about him he'd be tearing the town apart to find him, and if he was pissed he'd be tearing the town apart to find him and then kick his ass.

This was… different.

Dean looked… Dean looked wrecked.

What the hell was going on?

Dean heard the car, and he recognized the thrum of the Impala's engine, but he didn't look up.

He couldn't look up.

What could he say? He couldn't blame Sammy for not trusting him. If anyone else, anyone else in the entire world, had had Sammy on his knees like an Ancient Roman criminal waiting to be executed, Dean would have burned them alive.

And what did Dean have to apologize with? A book and a birthday cake.

Sammy would laugh in his face.

Dean felt Sam sit next to him on the step and tensed.

"You want to tell me what this is about?" Sam asked evenly.

"It's not a trick," Dean mumbled, not raising his head. "I promise, Sammy. It isn't a trick."

"A trick? What are you talking about?" Sam bumped their shoulders together. "Dean." Dean shook his head. "Dean, come on. Come on. Look at me."

The moment damp green eyes met his, Sam felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

"Crap," he hissed, reaching for his brother's arm. "Dean… Have you been crying?"

He expected Dean to scowl, to shove Sam off, to make a speech about how Dean Winchester didn't cry, but all he got was a shaky, "It isn't a trick, Sammy."

"What isn't a trick?"

"Me calling you up here. It isn't a trick. I don't… I would never…. I couldn't…" Dean broke off, turning away, but he grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt to hold him in place. "I would never hurt you, Sammy."

"You would… Is that what this is about? The thing with Death?"

"I almost killed you."

"It wasn't you, Dean."

"Yeah, it was. I set you up. I traded your life for a favour. I had you on your knees, Sammy. Why aren't you pissed?"

"You want me to be pissed?"

"I want you to trust me. Just… Just tell me what I need to do, Sammy, and I'll do it. I need you to trust me. I'll do anything."

"Dean." Sam shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. "I trust you."

"Don't lie, Sammy. I don't – I don't blame you. I wouldn't trust me, either."

"Dean, come on."

"You didn't come. You didn't answer my calls. I thought you weren't coming."

"I sent you a text."

"Just tell me how to make you trust me again, Sammy."

Dean felt Sam withdraw his arm. He shivered at the loss of contact, but before he could say anything, Sam had shifted to the step below so he could lean against Dean's side.

Dean's breath caught. "Sammy."

"I was taking the shorter route back," Sam said. "But apparently a tree got blown down – or maybe Marissa's ghost pushed it down – across the road. So I had to go back, and then I met Melody Kramer. We've been trying so hard to get someone to talk. I didn't want to risk her clamming up again. That was all."

"She tell you anything useful?"

"Nothing that can't wait till tomorrow." Sam nudged Dean with his elbow. "So why'd you want me to come here?"

"Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."

Sam waited patiently, blindfold over his eyes, listening to the sounds of Dean moving inside the cabin.

Dean had said he needed five minutes, but by Sam's counting it was barely two before he was outside again, helping Sam to his feet, turning him towards the door and guiding him in.

"Can I look now?"

"Wait a minute – keep your elbows in. No touching anything."

Dean walked him a few more steps, around some pieces of furniture, and finally pushed him into a chair. Sam grabbed the arms to steady himself.

"Dean, what's going on?"

"OK." Dean sounded unaccountably nervous. "OK… you can look."

Sam took off the blindfold.

The first thing he noticed were the balloons. They were in all colours, most of them scattered across the floor but a few dangling from the ceiling. There were also streamers, spelling out –

Sam flushed and looked away.

Then his eyes fell on the table in front of him. There was a cake on it, covered in candles – at least twenty of them – burning brightly, and something done up in giftwrap that looked like it was meant for a four-year-old.

"Dean?"

"I kind of messed up your birthday… again. I thought… I mean I know this doesn't make up for… for everything… But I thought it could be a start?"

Sam turned in his chair, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle. Dean's arms promptly went around his shoulders.

"You don't have to make up for anything."

"Maybe I want to." Dean rubbed Sam's back, and it made Sam feel just as safe and comfortable as it had when he'd been a kid and Dean had been trying to get him to sleep. "Do you like it?"

"I love it."

THE END

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