AN: Thanks to everyone who favorited, followed, or left a kind review on the last chapter! This is the last chapter of this story, and it's longer than the rest. I hope I don't disappoint everyone with the gift choice!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.
Birthday Blues
(Sam's POV) Morning came and Dean showed no signs of being in a better mood. It wasn't necessarily unlike Dean to not have shaken it off by the next day, but this time of year never failed to put him in a sour mood. However, that didn't affect the brothers' ability to work in tandem. With an efficiency honed over years of practice, the two had their room picked up, had checked out, and were once again on the road just half an hour after they woke up.
The silence hung heavily in the old Chevy. Usually, even if he was annoyed, Dean would have music playing. It was easy for Sam to tell Dean's mood by simply listening to the volume the music was played at. However, no music at all was about the time that he really started getting worried. Sam knew better than to try talking to his brother at this point. So, for the next fifty miles, silence reigned.
Sam was just starting to doze off, his head settling against the window, when Dean slammed on the breaks. His head slid off the window, and he barely had time to stop himself from cracking it against the dashboard. The Impala's wheels squealed and Sam sent up a silent prayer of thanks that whatever had caused Dean to stop so abruptly had at least happened on a patch of dry pavement and not a place covered in ice. He could hear Dean ripping off some colorful curse words, his brother's shoulders hunched over the steering wheel.
"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked, and then winced. The first words he had spoken to his brother on his birthday came off sounding a lot like an accusation. Just another nail in his coffin he guessed.
"Some freaking idiot just turned in front of me!" Dean raged.
"Did he hit us?"
Dean took a few seconds to reply. It appeared to Sam that his brother was replaying what had happened in his mind, trying to identify if he had ever felt the other car run into his baby. "No," he said, sounding no less angry. "I don't think so."
Sam nodded and fell silent again. He looked down into his lap, wanting desperately to avoid his brother's angry gaze, even if it wasn't directed at him right now. That look had always made him feel so small.
While in the middle of an intense study of the fabric of his jeans, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Sitting next to the gas pedal, next to Dean's feet, was the gift. Knowing there was no way he could get at the gift without alerting Dean, Sam could only pray it would slide back under the seat before Dean noticed. Sam did intend to give it to Dean, but he didn't want to do while his brother was so upset. He just wanted one thing to go right for Dean's birthday, especially since the day hadn't been exactly great so far.
Unfortunately, luck was cruel and seemed to enjoy punishing the Winchesters especially. Dean put his hand down to put the car back into drive after parking when they had stopped. His eyes followed his hand, and then continued on. Sam knew the exact moment Dean had seen the bag. Dean's head tilted slightly, the way it did when he was perplexed. He reached down and picked up the small paper sack.
"What's this?" he asked, holding it up to Sam.
"Uh," Sam's hand came up run through his hair nervously. "Just something I picked up in town yesterday."
Dean's face lit up with genuine glee for the first time that day. Apparently the opportunity to mock his younger brother had pulled him out of his funk. "What'd ya buy, Sammy?"
"Nothing," Sam muttered and made a grab for the bag, however, Dean's quick reflexes had him grasping at air.
"Ah, come on, Sammy," Dean was full on grinning now. "What'd you buy in that dinky little town?"
"It's none of your business," Sam could feel his face getting red.
Dean made a wide gesture with his arms. "My car, my business." He went to open the bag and Sam felt panic rising in his chest. Once again, he reached for the bag and, this time, managed to snag it.
"Hey!" Dean protested.
"I said it wasn't any of your business," Sam responded.
Dean stared at Sam for a long moment before putting the car into drive. They drove about ten minutes in silence once again, and Sam was afraid he'd driven the good mood from his brother. He was wrong.
"It's a hair-tie for your girly hair, isn't it?"
"What?" Sam was startled.
"Yeah," Dean looked over at him. "You finally realized that that stupid hair was gonna get in the way of a hunt, so you're tying it back."
"No, it's not a hair-tie, okay?"
Dean scoffed. "Okay." The disbelief was impossible to miss.
Sam smiled. "You're such a jerk."
"Bitch," Dean answered without hesitation. He looked over at Sam and grinned his devil-may-care grin, then turned on the radio and cranked it up.
Sam relaxed. The day had started rough, but maybe it could be salvaged after all.
SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN
(Dean's POV)
They had made it to the town of their hunt without any other mishaps. He had thoroughly enjoyed pushing Sam's buttons by guessing what was in the package. However, even though Sam had taken the ribbing in practiced stride, he had refused to reveal the contents of the mysterious package.
The brothers had decided to go their separate ways after checking in at the motel. Sam had taken researching at the library to confirm their suspicions and he had taken interviewing mourning family members, one of his most hated jobs. He had wanted to scout the woods, but Sam remained stubborn that no one should be going into those woods alone and apparently Dean was part of that no one.
Dean got back into the Impala after interviewing the family of the most recent victim, the last one on his list. The visit was frustratingly unhelpful. He had learned that their 18-year-old son had gone camping in the woods two weeks ago, it was supposed to be a three day trip. The boy's family was still hopeful that their son could be found, and Dean ached for them. Having hunted more than one wendigo, he knew that the boy was most likely nothing more than wendigo food strung up in some forgotten cave.
He leaned forward and rested his head against the Impala's steering wheel. Since Sam wasn't with him, he could allow himself a moment of weakness. There was a reason interviewing was his least favorite part of his job, and it wasn't his lack of people skills as Sam thought. Forcing people to talk about ones they had lost ripped him up inside. And even worse than that, at least this time, was the daughter. Dean looked in her eyes and saw it. She knew her brother wasn't coming back, didn't have the same hope as the rest of the family. Looking at her, seeing the despair and hopelessness, it was like looking into a mirror.
A sigh escaped his lips. He wished that Sam would have let him scout the woods. He needed to work up a sweat, feel the blood pumping fiercely through his veins, and let himself forget about the pain that surrounded this time of year. However, his younger brother had been insistent and now his skin felt as though it was too tight, his shoulders hunched in despair.
He reached down and turned the key in the ignition. The car pulled away from the curb, and he pointed it in the direction of the library. Hopefully Sam would have confirmed that it was a wendigo and they could hunt it down today. He cautioned himself to drive slowly, however, giving himself time to shake off the darkness that had shrouded his soul before Sam saw him.
SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN
(Sam's POV)
After an hour and a half, Sam was certain it was a wendigo that was terrorizing the woods. Now, he was sitting on the bench outside, waiting for Dean to pick him up. The rest of the drive had gone smoothly, Dean's mood improving after the discovery of the package. It had almost as if Dean had forgotten that this was the day of the year that he was allowed to brood. Not that Sam wanted his older brother to spend his birthday in melancholy, but he wouldn't blame him.
Sam's head came up when the rumble of the Impala echoed down the street. He internally heaved a sigh of relief. A small part of him had expected Dean to take off for the woods anyways and try to hunt the wendigo by himself. Though it wasn't what one could call a traditional gift, Sam hoped that the fact they could hunt the wendigo tonight would lighten Dean's spirits.
He pushed himself to stand as the Impala slowed to a halt outside the library. The door hinges creaked as he pulled the door open and got inside. Dean pulled away once the door was shut again. "So, it's definitely a wendigo," Sam said, breaking the silence.
"Told you," Dean muttered, appearing to be brooding more than the last time Sam had seen him. He glanced down at his watch. "We have enough time to go back to the motel and grab some stuff before heading back out to the woods."
Sam nodded in agreement. Hunting anything in the daytime was risky because they were more likely to be discovered by other people. However, a wendigo was already dangerous to hunt when the sun was highest, hunting them in the dark was virtually suicidal. Also, the nights were much colder in the winter. All around, the hunt would be less risky in the daylight. But knowing their luck, this hunt could take several bad turns. As they rolled up to the motel, Sam did something that he knew Dean would mock if he knew that he was doing it. He prayed to God that the hunt wouldn't end deadly.
SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN
(Dean POV)
"Easy," he hissed at Sam. The wendigo hunt had gone off almost without a hitch. The snow had been cold, the wendigo fast, and the wind whipping so fast it had extinguished almost every fire they'd lit to kill the wendigo but the bottom line was the wendigo was dead. True, right before Sam had delivered the gunshot that had propelled it into the fire to kill it, the wendigo had managed to snag its claws into Dean's arm and left three jagged gashes from his elbow to his wrist. They were fairly deep but not hospital worthy, so now Sam was stitching him up in their motel room. And none too gently either.
"Hey!" Dean snapped as Sam tugged a little too hard for the sixth time. "Work on your bedside manner there, would you?"
"Sorry," Sam muttered. Dean was starting to get concerned. Sam hadn't looked at him since they'd gotten back to the room and he had ordered Dean to shower. Even through the entire time Sam had stitched the first two gashes, he hadn't made eye contact once.
"There," Sam said as he finished the last one, "all done."
"Thanks," Dean replied, hoping it would get his brother's attention. Even though he knew it was wrong, he usually didn't thank for Sam for patching him up, at least not seriously. It was just difficult knowing he had to rely on someone else. However, Sam didn't look at him. Instead, he walked over to his duffle and started riffling through it. Holding back a sigh, Dean laid down on his bed. He knew that he usually tended to brood through his birthday, but that didn't give Sam the right.
He looked up when he heard Sam clearing his throat above his bed. Sam was standing to the side with both hands tucked behind his back. "You should really cover that up," he said while motioning to Dean's bandaged arm. Sensing that that probably wasn't what Sam wanted to say to him, Dean remained quiet.
Sam sighed. He pulled one arm from behind his back and ran his hand roughly through his hair. "I- uh- I got this for you." The other arm was quickly brought around front, and in clasped in his hand was the small brown bag that he'd seen earlier in the day. "Sorry it isn't wrapped," Sam muttered.
Dean slowly sat up. His heart was pounding in his chest. He knew it was dumb to be excited, but this would have been the first gift he had gotten since before he was a teenager. Carefully, he reached up to take the bag from his brother, handling it as if it was made of glass. He reached into the bag, closed his hand around the hard rectangle, and drew it out of the bag. When he saw it, his brow wrinkled in confusion.
"The Beatles'?"
"Just, go play it," Sam said.
Without a word, Dean got up. He was still confused, but he trusted Sam. Snagging the keys off the table, he walked outside to the car.
SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPSNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPSNSPNSPSNSPNSPSNPSNSPNSPN
(Sam's POV)
He stood watching Dean from the window. The hunt had gone fairly smoothly, but he was still reliving the fear of seeing the blood dripping down Dean's arm. He had forgotten how hard it was to see his big brother get hurt and be reminded of how human he was.
Sam had seen the confusion on his brother's face when he had seen the gift. They'd both grown up on lullabies of rock. The Beatles weren't exactly on Dean's list of things to listen to. Ever. But all the same, Sam knew he had made the correct decision.
Dean was sitting in the Impala, just putting the cassette into the player. Sam knew the exact moment that Dean understood the gift. His brother's face softened. A small smile graced his face, and though Dean would deny it happening until the day he died, a tiny tear slid down his cheek. Dean's head fell back to rest against the seat as he let the music flow over him.
Sam smiled. He knew that in the cold winter months where the memory of losing Mary was the hardest to deal with, the soft tones of "Hey Jude" was just what Dean needed to hear.
AN: So? What did you guys think? Was the gift good or should it have been something else? Please let me know!