Austin, Texas

January 24, 2003

ΩΩΩ

Dishes clattered in the kitchen, accompanied by a radio and Sam's soft, slightly out-of-tune voice.

Inside the small utility room next to the kitchen, an aging washing machine started its second spin cycle, last stop before Sam hauled the clothes out back to dry on the clothesline.

This time of year, he was likely to have to stick them into the dryer for a few minutes at the end of the day anyway, but he liked the way their clothes smelled after hanging in the fresh air.

Out in the back yard, Rowdy started to bark. The Alsatian next door replied quickly, followed by the Great Dane two houses down. That last kicked off a chorus of furious complaints from old Mrs. Christie's squad of Chihuahuas down the street.

Frowning, Sam looked out the window, relaxing when he saw it was only a strange dog that had Rowdy up in arms. When the stranger had passed by and the uproar settled a bit, he went down the hall and peeked in through the half-open bedroom door to check on his brother.

Still sleeping soundly, Dean didn't stir. Only the tip of his lightly freckled nose poked out from under the covers; the only sounds in the room little snuffling snores and an occasional contented sigh.

Satisfied that all was well, Sam padded silently back to the kitchen.

ΩΩΩ

Just after twelve, the smell of coffee wafted in through the bedroom door.

Dean's nose twitched, and a sleepy green eye peered out from under the covers. With a muffled groan, he rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head under his pillow.

No longer bothering to be quiet, Sam came into the bedroom, carrying a cup of steaming coffee. He sat down beside the lump in the bed and nudged it.

"Coffee, Dean," he crooned. "Coooffffeeee." He took a sip and moaned appreciatively. "Mmmmmm."

The lump shifted. "g'way."

Sam took another noisy slurp, smacking his lips. "It's your favorite, Dean. That Kona you like."

No movement for a good thirty seconds, then Dean's hand appeared from underneath the blankets, third finger extended.

Unimpressed, Sam plucked the pillow off his brother's head and tossed it into a corner of the room.

"Dude!" Dean groaned. "It's my birthday. I wanna sleep in." He smooshed his face into the wrinkled sheets.

"It's after twelve!" Sam said impatiently. "Come on! I made hash browns. And pancakes."

"Saaamm," Dean whined.

"Bacon, Dean. Lots and lots of bacon."

There was a short silence.

"You suck."

"And take a shower." Sam continued. "You smell like sex."

Dean turned over, eyes still closed, but a satisfied smirk on his lips. "That's because Karen gave me my birthday present early."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, lazy ass, ten minutes, and then I'm giving the bacon to Rowdy."

With a growl, Dean made a grab for him, but Sam evaded him easily and bolted from the room, leaving the coffee on the bedside table. "Ten minutes!"

Alone, Dean briefly considered going back to sleep. Then the sound of Sam letting their big Rottweiler in the back door brought him to his feet. He downed the cooling coffee, barely pausing to breathe between gulps, then headed for the bathroom.

After relieving himself, he stepped into the shower and stuck his head under the water for a couple of blissful minutes, then dumped a fat glob of herbal shampoo onto his head, humming with pleasure as he worked it through his short-cropped hair.

"Hey, are you using my shampoo again?" Sam was a menacing shadow beyond the shower curtain.

Dean shot a quick glance at the nearly empty bottle of shampoo and stuck his head back under the water to rinse away the evidence. "Nope."

"You better not."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Dean saw his brother's shadow moving furtively toward the toilet. "Don't you do it!"

"Do what?" Sam asked innocently. He took another step closer to the toilet.

Cursing under his breath, Dean quickly soaped up and rinsed off. He was just reaching to turn the water off when his brother flushed the toilet and a cold blast of water hit him in the face.

"Sam, you fucker!" Turning off the water to the sound of Sam's laughter, Dean grabbed a towel off its hook and dried himself quickly. "You better watch your ass, Sammy! Payback's gonna be a bitch!"

"Promises, prom-"

BAM!

The bathroom door burst open and Rowdy's black bulk burst into the small room. With a wet whuffle, he shoved past Sam, stuck his massive head into the shower and gave Dean's naked thigh a friendly lick.

"Whoa!" Dean's hands darted down to protect his private, most important, parts. "Watch it, dog!"

Grinning, Sam pulled the dog back from the tub and rubbed his head. "Hey, Rowdy boy. Who's a good boy! Are you hungry? How's about some bacon?"

Rowdy gave an enthusiastic bark, tail wagging furiously.

"Hey! Don't you give him my bacon, fucker!" Towel wrapped around his waist, Dean shoved the curtain back and stepped out of the tub.

"Better hurry up, then, birthday boy."

Dark eyes laughing, Sam left the bathroom, Rowdy chugging eagerly along behind him.

ΩΩΩ ΩΩΩ

Hair still wet, Dean hastily pulled on cut-offs and a faded Bad Company t-shirt. He shot into the kitchen just in time to see Rowdy skarf down the last of a plate of eggs and bacon.

"Shit!" Dean threw himself down into a chair, glaring at Sam. "I can't believe you did that!"

Shrugging, Sam poured out a cup of coffee and put it on the table in front of his sulking brother. "Well, I did say ten minutes – " He burst out laughing. "Oh, man, I can't do it. You should see your face!" Chuckling, he went to the oven and pulled out a plate piled high with food, plonking it down in front of his brother.

"Think you're pretty funny, don't you?" Scowling, Dean picked up a piece of crispy bacon and stuffed it into his mouth.

Sam dropped into the opposite chair. "I think I'm adorable." He reached out for a piece of Dean's bacon and nearly lost a finger to a quickly brandished fork.

"Hands off, Sammy." Keeping a cautious eye on his brother, Dean reached for the maple syrup and drowned his pancakes. "What other torture you got planned for me today?"

"Nothing much." Sam shrugged, oh so casually. He pulled two pasteboard tickets out of his pocket and tossed them across the table.

Dean's mouth fell open and he snatched up the tickets. "Kane? How the – Sammy, these things are like gold!"

"KLBJ had a contest last week," Sam said proudly. "Free concert tickets. I camped out on the phone all week trying to get through on their contest line. I finally made it on the last two tickets!"

"Thanks, Sammy!" Dean grinned. "Awesome!" He let Sam take the tickets back, rescuing them from a syrupy death, and shoved another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. "Concert's not until 7 o'clock. What are we gonna do till then?"

"Well, more presents first. Then we can take Rowdy over to the P-A-R-K." Sam looked down at Rowdy, now snoozing under the table. "After the concert, Franklin's?"

Even with his mouth full of pancakes and syrup, and a pile of bacon on the plate in front of him, Dean's eyes glazed over at the mention of his favorite barbecue joint.

Sam snagged a piece of his bacon and Dean woke up.

"Hey!"

"Snooze, you lose!" Sam popped the bacon into his mouth. "Come on, eat up!"

ΩΩΩ ΩΩΩ

Even with the prospect of presents, Kane, and barbecue dangling in front of him, Dean still lingered over his meal.

When he finally pushed his plate back with a satisfied sigh, he looked at Sam and said hopefully, "Presents?"

Sam pushed back his chair and stood. "Presents!"

He went to the pantry and retrieved a big box from just inside the door. Lugging it back to the table, he shoved Dean's breakfast dishes to the side and set the box in front of his brother.

"Happy birthday, jerk!"

"Thanks, bitch!" Dean rubbed his hands together gleefully. Trying not to jump onto the present like a rabid wolverine, he said, "Man, I love birthdays!"

"Open it." Sam handed Dean a short-bladed knife and nudged him impatiently. "Come on, open it!"

Dean carefully slit open the box. Looking inside, he drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, man! A record player!" He lifted out a reddish-brown turntable, and set it carefully on the table, running reverent fingers over the burnished wood.

"Oh, man. Sammy, this is just . . ."

Sam was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean's smile was wide, infectious and completely sincere. "I love it!"

Beaming, Sam held out another package - square, lightweight and wrapped in screamingly cheerful Spongebob Squarepants wrapping paper.

Careful not to tear it - he loved the little yellow fucker - Dean peeled the paper away from the treasure inside.

"Holy crap!"

Led Zeppelin's first album. Both album and cover in perfect condition.

Overwhelmed, Dean ran his fingers reverently over the embossed logo. "Sammy, this is amazing. Thank you."

"Look inside!" Sam urged him.

"What, more?" Dean peered inside the album cover and, with a questioning glance at Sam, pulled out the envelope nestled inside. Inside that was a gift certificate. "Out of the Past. New and old albums," he read aloud.

"I knew you'd like the Zeppelin," Sam said smugly. "And they've got a ton of other really cool stuff."

Dean carefully set the album down on top of the record player and lifted Sam off the floor in a fierce hug. "Thanks, Sam. Best birthday ever."

"Better than when Dad gave you the Impala?" Sam snickered at the scandalized expression on Dean's face. "Just kidding. Let's go set it up." He gestured to the turntable. "Oh, and it's got built-in speakers, but you can pick up some bigger ones later, if you want."

"Damn right I'll get big speakers," Dean said enthusiastically. "Blast your freaking eardrums out."

They trooped into the living room, Rowdy trotting behind them. Once they had the player set up, Dean eased the Zeppelin album out of its cover, set it onto the turntable, and placed the needle carefully onto the first track. Robert Plant's distinctive vocals filled the room and the brothers bumped fists and dropped onto the couch to listen.

Dean sighed blissfully as the first track faded seamlessly into the second. "Thanks, Sammy. Really."

Sam nodded, eyes shining with pleasure.

Presents hadn't played a big part in their life when they were growing up. On the road with their father, there hadn't been money for "extras". Even if there had been, there hadn't been room in the Impala anything beyond necessities.

Things were different now. They were both working and, after that tight first year, they were living, if not high on the hog, certainly better than they ever had before.

For Sam's birthday in May, Dean had given him a couple of bookcases and gift cards to several of Austin's new and used bookstores.

Dizzy with the prospect of not just buying books but actually keeping them, Sam had taken hours to settle on his first choice - a worn, leather bound copy of The Three Musketeers.

Once that title had broken the ice, it was quickly followed by The Last of the Mohicans, The Stand, a fat Dashiell Hammett compilation and several of Robert Heinlein's earlier works, which had Sam cackling in covetous glee for hours.

The rest of the gift cards had gone quickly after that and the original two bookcases had been joined by several more, all stuffed full.

The album's second track ended. The third began.

Rowdy came to the couch and put his head on Dean's thigh, looking up at him soulfully.

"Okay, boy. Park!" Dean patted the big animal's head. "Let's get this party started!"

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

That night, well past midnight - post-dog park, post-concert and after way too much barbecue - Sam woke with a sudden jerk. Trembling, covered with a slick, cold sweat, he couldn't remember the dream that had woken him, but knew from experience that sleep was done with him for the night.

After staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes, he switched on the bedside lamp and picked up the book he'd been reading before bed the last few nights, but, after a few minutes, put it aside. Right now, not even Robert Crais could hold his attention.

"Hey." Dressed in sweats and a thread-bare AC/DC t-shirt, Dean stood at his open door. "Can't sleep?"

Sam shrugged. "What are you doing up?"

"Pie."

Sam groaned, the mere thought of food making him feel slightly nauseous. "Dean, how can you even think of eating? I'm still stuffed full of barbecue!"

"Don't hate, Sammy. There's always room for pie." Dea yawned. "Come keep me company."

"Don't you think I have better things to do that watch you eat pie?"

"Nope. If you did, you'd be doing it." Dean disappeared down the hall.

With a sigh, Sam climbed out of bed and trailed after.

When he got to the kitchen, Dean was already sitting at the table. The last, lonely piece of pie sat in front of him; his fork was at the ready.

Sam sat down opposite. "If you puke, I'm not cleaning it up."

Dean forked up the first bite. "Not in a million years, bro," he mumbled. Pastry crumbs sprayed across the table.

"You're a class act."

"You love it, Sammy," Dean said complacently. "Everybody loves the birthday boy."

"It's after midnight. Birthday's over."

"Nope. It's my birthday till tomorrow morning. Oh, forgot to tell you," Dean mumbled through another messy bite. "Bobby called. He should roll in Saturday morning."

"Great."

"I was thinking we'd take him out to the Quarries on Sunday morning, get in a little fishing."

"In January?"

Dean snorted. "Dude, he lives in South Dakota. January in Austin's gonna feel like summer to him."

"Yeah, I guess." Brow furrowed, Sam stared absently into space.

Dean's big brother radar started to ping. "What's up?"

Sam straightened, looking surprised and a little guilty. "What? Nothing."

"Are you upset about Bobby coming here? He'll make sure nobody follows him, Dad or anybody else."

"Dean, no," Sam protested. "I want to see him. It's been too long."

Dean studied him for a long moment. There was something. . . "Nightmare?"

Flushing, Sam looked away.

"Oh, hell, no!" Dean got to his feet and rounded the table. He took Sam by the chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "Let's try this again. Nightmare?"

Sam nodded, mouth tight. "Yeah. I don't remember what it was about, but – yeah."

Dean straightened, letting Sam go. He'd begun to think, hope, that Sam's dreams were gone for good, driven away by their new, normal, life. "You said you'd let me know if you had any more," he said, suddenly suspicious. "You haven't been holding out on me, have you?"

"No, Dean. No." Shaken by the sudden sideways turn the night had taken, Sam's voice trembled. "I just – We were having such a great day. I would've told you."

Wanting to let it go, but needing to ask, Dean said tentatively, "Do you think it was him?"

"No. Fuck, I don't know. How the hell would I know?" Frustrated, Sam started to get up.

"Hold on." Dean kept him in the chair. "It's not your fault. It's not like you can control your dreams."

"I know. I'm just – " Sam gestured helplessly. "Things are going so good. Why do I always have to - " A rush of rage and pain washed over him. "Shit, why am I such a fucking freak!"

"Sam!" Dean snapped. "First of all, don't talk that way about my baby brother or I'll kick your ass!"

He waited until Sam nodded.

"Second, I just remembered, the last time you had a nightmare was on your birthday."

Sam's face went blank with surprise. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I remember."

"So, birthdays."

"Huh." Sam thoughtfully chewed that over.

Dean dug a little. "What is it about birthdays?"

Sam grimaced, thinking back over the last few days. "Maybe - maybe they make me think too much."

"About what?"

"You. Me," Sam said reluctantly. "Our life, I guess."

"The small stuff, huh?" Dean gave him a teasing poke and Sam batted his hand away.

"Cut it out."

"We don't have to celebrate birthdays if you don't want," Dean said after a moment. "It's no big deal."

"Nah." Sam sighed, half-smiling at Dean's clearly reluctant offer. "I'll deal. This place is good, we're good. It's just - I don't know how long it's gonna last."

"Come on, man. Nobody knows what's gonna happen next," Dean said simply. "That's just life. We might stay here another year, or maybe five. Hell, we could be gone tomorrow. All we can do is take it as it comes. Gott let the rest of it go."

They sat quietly for a while, Sam staring into the middle distance, and Dean watching him intently, knowing that Sam was worrying about more than outside forces working against them. Knowing from long familiarity the kind of self-doubt likely to be eating at him,

When Sam moved at last to get up, Dean didn't stop him. He watched as Sam picked up the plate and fork from the table and dumped them into the sink. Watched as he stared silently through the window over the sink into the darkness outside.

At last he crossed, stood behind his little brother. He was close enough to touch him, but he didn't. "Sammy," he said softly.

Sam didn't turn, just listened, staring at his brother's reflection in the kitchen window.

"Whatever happens, we'll face it together." He hesitated, then slipped his arms around Sam, and hugged him tight, needing his brother to hear him. "Yeah?"

Face working, Sam turned into Dean's arms. The two clutched each other and held on tight.

No more words were needed, at least for now. They stood, as always, together; each one safe in the arms of the only home they had ever known; the only one they would ever need.

Brothers.

Winchesters.

THE END

Done. Wow. I did it. I want to thank, sincerely, all those who stuck with me through this story. And a special thanks to those kind enough to review. You know who you are. It meant a lot to me. A LOT. Hope to see you on my next adventure!