Prompt 11: Light
The Best Kind of Surprise
Dean sat on the Pastor's back porch, wrapped up against the chill, gazing silently out into the distance watching the occasional bird flit from tree to tree. It was January . . . miserable time of year, not that he really expected anything else. Nobody had mentioned wanting him to do anything. Sam hadn't pestered him for attention, so that left him nothing important to do.
The Pastor had taken Sammy out a couple of hours ago, telling Dean to relax, rest . . . Right . . .Dean had done his chores and Sam's just to try and keep himself occupied, less thinking time. Dean didn't even know where Sammy and the Pastor had gone or when they'd be back. He stood up, stamping his feet to try and warm himself up, knowing he needed to move around before he pretty much froze up completely. There'd been snow overnight; it was still patchy across the garden although Dean had cleared the porch and the path to the front steps, just for something to do. He'd started with the front steps but it was pretty more self-torture to be at the front of the house, knowing that he was waiting, hoping . . . going to be disappointed.
He went back into the house, shrugging off his jacket and crossing to the hall to hang it back up, before moving through to the den to flick on the TV and flop down on the couch and not listening out for cars approaching the house or hoping for visitors. Dean wondered if Dad had even realized that he and Sam weren't at the motel anymore, that Sam had contacted the Pastor a couple of weeks ago when Dean had caught a cold. It hadn't even been a bad cold, but Sammy had just out waited him, poised until he fell asleep, dosed on Tylenol and cough mixture, then he'd sneakily phoned the Pastor. He'd woken up to find their bags packed and the Pastor shaking him gently before resting a hand on his forehead.
The Pastor had been good about it, like he always was, but he'd ignored Dean's protestations that they were fine and had insisted that it was too cold, the room was too damp and badly heated and for Samuel's sake, both boys were going to be staying at the Pastor's home for the immediate future. So now they were here and the Pastor and Sam were out and he was on his own. He pouted at the TV, before letting his head drop back against the seat and giving up, letting his eyes drop shut from boredom.
Sam was buzzing with excitement, thankful to be with the Pastor because for once . . . for once he could make the day special just like it should be. He barely contained the urge to bounce and bound around the store, amazed that the Pastor had brought him here. His eyes were wide and joyous as he flitted round the store, trying to find the perfect purchase. "Sammy!" he turned to the Pastor, saw his gesture at the railing beside him and knew . . . knew the Pastor had found it, the one perfect thing.
Eliot worked in Ava's kitchen, careful concentration as he stirred the bowl, trying to get the perfect consistency. He looked up as Ava came in and smiled. "Something smells good, sweetheart," she said. "How's it going?"
"It's cooling. I'm making frosting, but I want to get the flavor just right with the texture so it sticks right," the teenager replied. "I want it to taste and look good."
She smiled and reassured him that he was doing a grand job before placing on the table next to him two little boxes. He looked down at the little blue and white sticks showing through the side of the packaging. "You think? Really? That . . . that wouldn't be too much?"
Dean heard the Pastor's car as it pulled up in the drive and shot up from his seat, heading for the kitchen figuring he could make himself useful and start dinner now the others were back. He looked up as the door opened and the Pastor and Sam came in, Sam immediately darting towards the stairs with a shouted, "Hi Dean," before the sound of his feet thundering upwards could be heard.
The Pastor's approach was more sedate as he joined Dean in the kitchen, "Oooh, are you starting dinner? I think we might need a bit extra tonight, I have some parishioners joining us." Dean nodded reaching for another onion and starting to chop it quickly.
A minute or two later and the Pastor had washed up and was alongside him, helping with the preparations, giving no further clue as to who the guests might be. The Pastor asked a few questions about how Dean had spent the afternoon to which Dean didn't have much of an answer and as the Pastor seemed reluctant to talk about how he and Sam had spent the afternoon the kitchen was pretty quiet until the doorbell went.
"I'll get that," the Pastor said already hurrying out of the kitchen and pulling the door closed behind him.
Dean heard Sam's feet thundering back down the stairs and knew he'd have to talk to his brother about not being so noisy in the Pastor's house. He stirred the meat sauce in the saucepan in front of him and sighed. He'd hoped but . . . He tried to shake the feeling off, knowing it was wrong to think like that. His Dad was busy, had more important things on his mind and he was just selfish to want to be put ahead of his Dad's important work. People's lives were at stake and . . .
His thoughts were derailed by the shrill of the telephone. Knowing the Pastor was busy with his guests, Dean didn't think twice before he picked up the extension in the kitchen and said, "Hello. The Pastor's House, can I help you?"
"Dean? Is that you, son?" Dean felt as his breath caught in his throat at the sound of his Dad's voice, barely managing to almost squeak a response. "I haven't got long, son, but I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday and say I'll be back soon. I'm sorry I can't be there today, but you're having a good day, aren't you?"
Dean closed his eyes, relishing the reassuring sound of his Dad's voice, the sound of his Dad alive, as he agreed that he was having a good day. He didn't need to tell Dad that no one else had remembered; that he thought even his Dad had forgotten. He hadn't needed to worry though, Dad hadn't forgotten about him. He felt loved, knew that Sammy and the Pastor cared, even if he didn't expect them to know about the whole birthday thing. That wasn't important.
He was back at the stove, stirring the pasta when the Pastor returned to the kitchen to ask if everything was ready. Dean nodded, lifting the pot from the heat as the Pastor began to serve up the pasta. Dean tried to hide his nervousness. He knew the Pastor kept the visitors who stayed for dinner to a minimum when he and Sam were here, knew the Pastor knew how anxious he got with strangers.
"This smells lovely, Dean. You've done a grand job," the Pastor said as he added the meat sauce to the pasta on each plate. "The Thompsons are going to enjoy this."
Dean felt the tension drop from his shoulders. The Thompsons were Eliot's family, not really proper strangers at all. Dean smiled and picked up two plates to carry them through to the dining room.
The meal passed pleasantly with plenty of compliments for Dean's cooking, much to his embarrassment. He had just cleared the plates through to the kitchen and just finished setting the coffee machine to make a pot of coffee. He left it to heat through and moved back towards the dining room, surprised to see the light had gone off in there. He was about to turn back to go and fetch a new light bulb to replace the one that had obviously blown, when Sam appeared at his side and dragged him into the darkened room.
The Pastor stepped to the side and the room was filled with a yellow glow emanating from the center of the table. Dean blinked in surprise as everyone else in the room began to sing. He looked across the table at Eliot and saw his friend smirk at his surprised expression at the sight of a birthday cake complete with candles. He had to be prompted twice before he sprang into action to blow the candles out and Sam pulled him down into a seat as the Pastor turned the lights back on and Dean found a small pile of gifts in front of him.
"Open this one first," Sam nudged him with an untidily wrapped present. "It's from me!"
Dean smiled at his brother, leaning across to give him a hug before unwrapping the paper to reveal a Metallica t-shirt. "Awesome!" He grinned broadly at his brother, "You rock!" Sam's delight at his brother's response was clear to see.
With Sam's prompting, he tackled a box shaped parcel next that Sam assured him was from the Pastor and Uncle Bobby. He was stunned to find a walkman inside, looking round at the Pastor with shock clear on his face to be met with warm affection and a pat on the shoulder, "Happy Birthday, young man. Bobby said he'd call you later this evening for a chat and to see whether you approved of the choice. He said to tell you now, if you like it, it was his idea, and if you don't, it was mine!"
"I – I love it!" Dean gasped, the amazement still clear.
"Open the others now!" Sam encouraged. Two smaller boxes lay in front of him, Dean turned them over to see one was from Ava and Stan and the other from Eliot. His hands shook as he unwrapped the paper on Eliot's to find a cassette of Motorhead inside. Eliot just grinned and joined in Sam's urging to open the other. As the wrapping fell away, Dean held in his hand a tape of AC/DC.
"Th-Thank you all so much." His voice was quiet; his emotion clear as Ava dropped onto the seat beside him and pulled him in for a hug.
When she let go again, he took a deep breath and said, "The cake looks awesome!"
"Eliot made it," Ava said, proudly, smiling fondly at the embarrassed flush on her foster son's cheeks. "Shall I cut you all a piece?" Her question was met with enthusiastic responses all round and within moments, they were all sat back at the table with coffee for the adults and cake all round.
Dean and Eliot were outside on the porch, Sam was already in bed and Dean knew it wouldn't be long until the Thompsons were leaving and taking Eliot with them. "I'm sorry your dad couldn't be here," Eliot said quietly.
Dean shrugged, "Doesn't matter . . . I had an amazing birthday with you guys and . . . and you know, Dad phoned earlier, not to speak to the Pastor. He phoned just to say Happy Birthday, so that's cool . . . He's hoping to be home soon."
Eliot grinned, "The best kind of birthday then."
Dean looked at him and knew he understood as he himself added, "Not the best kind . . . just the best birthday."
