Chapter Thirteen

-30th April 2000

Sam was pretty happy about all the time he was getting to spend with Dean. Over time, in only the span of the two weeks they had gotten to know each other, he had developed some odd, childish kind of hero-worship. He was too old for that, maybe, but he couldn't help but see Dean as a hero, one who had made everything better for him. He felt bad for thinking that, thinking that things were better while Rick was rotting away in prison because of him, but at the same time, he couldn't deny it. He felt selfish for it, but he couldn't.

Dean was great, and Sam had only gotten to learn how much greater he was in the past few weeks he had been with him. He had taken it upon himself to help Dean through everything, to take care of him even though Dean was constantly refusing that he needed it, but he thought it was the least he could do, the smallest bit of compensation for everything, and it wasn't really planned. It just started happening, without much thinking. He started off by getting him his meds, then started helping him walk around, or just simply following behind him to catch him, just in case, when Dean wanted to move around on crutches despite complaining about how much he hated them, got him his meals upstairs when he was too spent from acting like a tough, macho guy who didn't need help with limping around on his broken leg.

Sometimes Dean let him read to him, because there was nothing else to do for him, and he said it wasn't as great as watching TV, but it was close enough. Sometimes they just talked, or Dean talked, mostly, and Sam listened, listened like they were the most important things in the world to know, to remember, like it could save lives. Just trying to soak in all of that knowledge about Dean, who he was, what he liked (they made the best cherry pies in Maine), what he wanted from life (not much, he said, just wanted to help his Dad, save people, hunt down the monsters who tried to kill them. He said he used to want to be a firefighter when he was a kid, because his mom died in a fire. He looked really sad, but he changed the subject as soon as it came).

Dean asked him questions too, smiled at him a lot, like he was happy to be with him. But Sam couldn't understand why, because he wasn't as good as he thought him to be. He could barely talk most of the time. Dean listened too, very well for someone who liked to act cocky and boisterous at times, and he listened like Sam's words meant anything even though all he was saying was that he liked watching the stars and the sunrise, had always wanted to see the ocean too. Liked eating chicken sandwiches and drinking vanilla lattes, even though he only got to taste them a few times, which was while he was at Bobby's, and that sometimes he prayed to God and angels.

At his most vulnerable, when they were just nearing the anniversary of her death, he talked about his mom, about how she died because he had kept quiet about something he shouldn't have, and if he had just told someone... well, his family never would have hated him as much as they did. She would have been alive, and they would have been happier. Told him about how drunk his Dad would get on that day, and how much worse it all was compared to other days, and how Rick would just stand by and watch, burning with the same fire as their father. He'd tell him he deserved it when he cried, and after a while, he learned to be silent about it.

He told him that his mother died just two days before his birthday. They had her funeral on that day. It was why he didn't like May 2nd at all.

This wasn't planned either. He thought about holding it all in until they passed way beyond that day, thought about not worrying Bobby about it, and knowing Dean wouldn't want to hear his sob stories. But it was too much, too much pushing out from inside of him, too much to choke down his throat and hold his tongue on, and Dean kept asking and asking and asking while he wondered why it mattered to him so much, and before he even knew it, it was all tumbling out, falling from his lips, every word, everything he had clamped down on since he could remember because nobody was there to listen or care. Now there was. There was someone who listened and cared and gently, tentatively reached out to grasp the back of his neck, squeezing, tugging him in for a hug and whispering it was okay when he couldn't stop apologizing for being so weak.

Somehow, he had expected to hear Rick's words in somebody else's voice, even though they never would have fitted with Dean's. But he had been waiting, fearing, anticipating to hear him telling him to stop being such a fucking baby and you're a pathetic piece of shit, and he was ashamed and embarrassed for breaking down so easily. His father, his brother, they would have been disgusted.

But Dean wasn't. Dean just held him close, like he had known that this was all that he needed, and then gave it to him.

…

May 2nd came as fast as any day, maybe a little faster than Sam wanted it to. But it meant he could pass it by, get it over with. He didn't expect celebrations, because his mom had been burned on that day, and his Dad would have rather drank and yelled and beat, and his brother would have rather grieved and hated more than usual and told him he deserved it. And he understood. God, he understood, even agreed. He wasn't bitter about it. He was just sad.

But he still couldn't take in all the ways everything had completely changed, still felt like he was living in old patterns of thoughts and emotions and actions, old expectations and habits, and it continued to surprise him as life went on, something a little more colorful and bright and weightless than before, even though there was too much to learn.

When he came downstairs that morning, though, with a load inside of him that reminded him of being worthless and alone and afraid, being sad all the time, he was met with something he didn't expect.

He walked into the kitchen, heavy and tired and wishing his mom was here and he wasn't, and was surprised by the sight of Dean sitting in a chair, injured leg sprawled out, and Bobby standing beside him, party hats on both of their heads and a grin on their faces. There was a small chocolate cake on the table with tiny candles on them, balloons taped up unceremoniously on walls, surrounding them, some on the floor bobbing around out of the way when Bobby moved until he was right in front of him.

"Happy birthday, son," Bobby said, hands on his shoulders.

Sam grinned weakly, almost nervously, as he looked around. "What's all this?"

"Your birthday party!" Dean's voice piped up from behind him. "Me and Bobby woke up at shit'o'clock in the morning, don't even ask when, to set all of this up for you." He was grinning proudly, happily, and Sam was...

Was feeling kind of warm.

"Come on now," Bobby said, smiling, gently shoving him forward towards an empty chair. "Time to make a wish, son."

Sam followed and sat on the chair, in front of the cake, was smiling so hard and stupid that his cheeks must have grown red, or maybe it was the tears burning and pushing behind his eyes and stinging his nose and cheeks and making his throat choke up from all the emotions beneath it. He was happy, stupidly happy, and it was just a birthday party and he didn't know why he was so happy when he should be sad instead.

At that thought, he was suddenly thrown by the waves of guilt and unworthiness. His mother was dead, was cremated on this day fifteen years ago because of him, all because he should have said something and didn't, and he was alive and here and happy on the exact same day and it wasn't right.

It wasn't right, and the smile wore off, and he was left staring at the cake, suddenly wanting to cry again, but for a different reason. Suddenly feeling like he was betraying his mother's memory, feeling dirty and horrible and selfish, the load back inside of him. His mother was dead and he was smiling.

A hand clasped on the back of his neck, and he looked up to see Dean, staring at him gently, deeply, like he knew.

"She would have wanted you to be happy," Dean said softly.

Sam stared at him, swallowed, then looked at the cake hesitantly, then up at Bobby. Bobby nodded with a small smile, reassuringly patted his back while Dean squeezed his nape.

He exhaled, still half-ashamed and sad, but couldn't help the little, soft smile.

He closed his eyes and made a wish, Dean's hand on the back of his neck reminding him that it was okay. He leaned forward and blew all the little flames away, watching the smoke and smiling just a little wider now.

...

Dean watched Sam pluck the tape off the small gift that Bobby had handed to him, wrapped up in a newspaper because he said he had forgot to buy proper gift-wrappers, but it was carefully wrapped so that it was heartfelt enough. Dean wished he could have given him something, but he was sort of immobilized for the time being. He watched as he finally spread out the newspaper, unfolded it until it was fully open to reveal an amulet, black cords and a golden charm that had horns.

"Said to have bring good luck, protect ya. I want ya to have it," Bobby said. Sam smiled as he thumbed it, glanced up and told him he loved it.

"Sorry I didn't get you anything," Dean said, apologetically sheepish, and then gestured to his leg. "I would if I could."

Sam shook his head and smiled again. He was smiling a lot today, and that was good. "I understand."

Dean watched as he glanced at Bobby, and then at him, his gaze suddenly soft and deep and shining again, and Dean didn't know how much of it was the light and how much of it was just emotion, the twinkle of joy and the wetness of tears. But he was staring at them both now. "Thank you," he said, genuine gratitude softening his features. "This was... this was great. The best. I... I loved it."

Dean smiled, tried not to let it look too strained or tight because he couldn't help but compare that look on his face to Adam's.

…

Four hours later, he saw it again.

He had wanted some grease because Bobby's chili was honestly starting to grow sickening after having so much of it all throughout the month. Bobby knew how to cook quite a few things, and the best of all of them was chili, so they had that more often than anything else, and while Dean had always enjoyed and appreciated one of his greatest dishes, it does start to get a bit too much when you have enough of it. Also, they were running out of groceries again, and Bobby was usually on it, but he seemed pretty tired today, having woken up earlier than usual in order to set up Sam's birthday party, so he figured it'd be cruel to ask him for anything, especially considering how he knew exactly how it felt because he had been up at the same time. His work was mostly blowing up balloons and sticking candles in the cake though, so it wasn't as grueling as Bobby's work, who had to drive about an hour to the best closest bakery, still pretty much half-asleep without his coffee having kicked in yet, and then had to drive over to stores that were still open at 4'o'clock in the morning to search for balloons and candles and party hats, and come back, and set up everything.

So he had to ask Sam instead, who was happy to help. Well, except when he asked him where the nearest take-out and grocery store was, and he gave him all the directions, threw him his car keys (was pretty surprised at how easy it was to do it when he didn't trust many people with his baby), told him it'd been a ten minute drive at most.

Sam had stood there, suddenly all hunched shoulders and ducked face and fidgeting hands, like he was afraid and ashamed, and it made Dean unpleasantly flash back to the first time he had brought him in with him, and he never wanted to see that again.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, shifting his feet. "Can I j-just… walk?"

Dean held back a wince at the stutter, feeling like all their progress had somehow vanished now. "What? It'll be like… almost an hour of walking. Why don't you wanna use the car?"

Sam didn't reply, just stood there, staring at his shoes.

"Sam?" Dean said, trying not to show the thorough confusion in his head on his face. He was puzzling over it silently.

Until he got it.

"You don't know how to drive," Dean said softly, and felt stupid for assuming he did. Hunters didn't care much about rules, and they usually taught their children how to drive as soon as they looked old enough for it, which, for Dean, was fourteen (but that wasn't really much of a rule-breaker, according to Dean) and he got his learner's permit two years later. He had forgotten, though, that Sam didn't have a family who wanted the best for him, probably wouldn't have taught him anything that could ensure his options to leave.

"N-no," Sam answered quietly, curling even more into himself.

Dean smiled slowly. "Well, you know… I think I just got an idea for your birthday gift."

…

"First thing," Dean said importantly, holding up an equally important finger. "Do not scratch my baby. Not even a teeny bit. I trust you, like I have never trusted anyone else in my life outside of my Dad or Bobby, so do not break that trust, you understand me?"

Sam nodded slowly, eyes furrowed, twisting his neck in that way he did whenever he wasn't sure how to react to something. Or maybe when he thought something was weird.

Dean nodded, exhaled. He then proceeded to turn forward and stroke its steering wheel lovingly. "Alright, baby," he whispered soothingly. "You're gonna be in new hands for a while, but I'm right here, alright? Right in the passenger seat. Sammy's a good kid, so I'm sure he'll take good care of you, and you probably…"

"Dean," Sam said, shaking his head.

"…feel a bit uncomfortable right now because he has absolutely no experience in driving, but like I said, I'm-"

"Dean," Sam repeated.

"…right here, and-"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed. Dean's head snapped up to him.

"What?"

"I, um…I'm sure it's-"

"She."

"Right, uh, she… she's going to be fine," Sam reassured, frowning. "I'll be careful with it...her, I mean. Her. I promise."

Dean smiled, a bit weakly, nodding.

Then he took a deep breath, blew it out, and leaned back in the seat.

"Alright..." he started, blew out another heavy breath. "To start off, make sure you're comfortable…"

…

After giving him the basics of driving, Sam was driving on the road, slow and steady. There were a few jerks and bumps at first, but after a while, he was driving like he had been driving long enough. Except… slower. Still, it was good for someone who had never touched a steering wheel before. Dean was silently impressed at how fast he learned it all, how he listened and took it all in and applied it, and he wondered if this was how Adam would have been too if he had been here, if he had taught him how to drive.

Dean found himself far more relaxed in his seat than he thought he would be. They were driving to the grocery store, and though Dean had to point out a few directions, he didn't have to do much else. He looked over at Sam, who was wide-eyed and carefully focused and smiling excitedly.

Dean couldn't help but smile too. Sam looked really happy to be behind the wheel, an innocent and childlike glint in his huge eyes, and he thought maybe these kind of moments had been pretty rare in his life, and maybe he felt warm and light in his bones that he could be the one to have given him some of them.

The car was slowing just a little sooner than needed, since they were still blocks away from the store. But eventually, they were right in front of it, staring at it. Sam breathed out, shaking slightly, which Dean only noticed now, but he was smiling widely, probably still a little high from the excitement. He looked over at Dean, eyes flickering shyly towards him, hopeful and afraid and silently asking if he did well. He exhaled again, and Dean grinned at him, reaching out a hand and ruffling his hair.

"You did good," Dean said.

Sam was beaming, his young, tanned skin alight with something. Maybe it was just the gentle lights from the windows behind him. But then his chest heaved again, in another quiet, lighter, close-mouthed exhale, and his gaze and his smile softened again with the genuine gratitude, like when he bought him new clothes and shoes, like back at their small party (like with Adam).

Dean felt his heart swell up, in a way he couldn't remember it had since 1992, when he had shot fireworks into the sky in that field in Illinois with Adam, watched the sky become alive with colors and explosions and sounds, colliding into his chest like painless little bullets, but he remembered how it was Adam's grin and the sparkle in his eyes that had really set his world alight and his chest swell up until there was no space in it because it was all taken up by his heart.

Adam had said, with that same genuine gratitude, "Thanks, Dean. This is great. Dad never would have let us do something like this."

And he had watched him stand under the sparks and fire and bright lights, had watched him spread his arms out and turn and grin at him like he had never grinned, had felt himself grin back, time smoother in moments that weren't dragged by heaviness in their chests and bones and bodies, almost surreal with such sharp clarity in those blinding lights burning their eyes. It was like they were all alone in the world, fireworks erupting into the dark night and mingling colors reflecting off their faces, but in a good day. It was like they had their own world between the trees, and they were happy, and nothing else mattered, and it was the first time he had felt grounded and real and at peace.

This was the same. The same, but the quiet kind. There were no colors or explosions or sounds, but there was that grin and that sparkle in his eye and that genuine gratitude, and there were dim morning lights that somehow seemed brighter through the windows of the car, and the world felt less like a daze and more solid and real for a moment when he watched him grin, dimples and perfectly-lined teeth, right at him. He felt like he had done something right. He felt like somebody's hero again.

And it made him think about what Bobby said, made him wonder if it wouldn't be too selfish to want this forever.

Author's Note: Thank you Tie-Dyed Broadway, lenail125, Eruthiawen Luin, babyreaper, Souless666, ArtistKurai, reannablue, whatnosheep, Ghostwriter, StyxxsOmega, jensensgirl3, YesteryearsGirl, 1hotpepper, DeansSammy for your lovely reviews and thoughts on the story. I so enjoyed reading them all! Thanks for making my day. :) Thank you to all who read, tagged and stuck with me all this time (each and every one of you). I'm very, very grateful. *hugs* And a warm welcome to any new readers here! I hope you enjoyed the story up until now. :)

Man, so, uh... three updates in three weeks? I feel so awesome about that. Can I feel that all the time? Sadly, I'm having exams right now so I don't know if I'll be able to edit the next chapter on time and post it, but since this was already edited beforehand, I thought I could just post it today. Hope it was good!

Constructive criiticism is welcome. But please be polite and respectful.