Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Duh. A. N. So, this has literally been written in 4 days. My beta really shouldn't have to suffer through my raptuses, but she does. If this isn't complete nonsense, bless Chrwythyn. Oh, and POV switches twice...and I like the result. I know, I'm weird. Also, it ended up being 97% angst, 1% wincest, 2%...I'm not actually sure. Just so you know what you're in for. XD I maybe should apologize to Sammy that his birthday inspired this, but well. I can't be much worse than Becky. ;D

(Un)happy birthday

He's alone. Completely. More than he's ever been in a mostly lonely and miserable life. Sam's right there, on the dirty mattress, but – he's still gone. Dead, because Dean failed.
Sent him alone to be kidnapped. To buy dinner, who'd have thought that hell would snatch him out of one shitty diner just like thousands of others...Still, he knew the demon had projects. Tired or not, why the fuck did Dean think it was okay to take his eyes off his brother? Wasn't the shtriga enough of a lesson? Apparently, for Dean, useless sonofabitch that he is, it fucking wasn't.

And afterwards – he'd been slow. So so fucking slow. If he'd been five minutes quicker. Perhaps if he had just not lost time arguing with Bobby that he was normal, absolutely normal, no visions. He doesn't know how or why or what that one fucking thing was, except a cry for help. Someone (Sammy? Someone at his request?) had called him, and Dean had dawdled. Been idle just long enough to have to watch Sammy be slaughtered. To be helpless to do anything except hold his baby boy while he was dying.

Sammy is here, but he's gone, and Dean can't – can't think. Can't function. Can't live. He shouldn't be alive at all, dad wouldn't have fucked up this badly. Sure, maybe he wouldn't have known Sam had been taken in the first place, but once he received a signal, he'd fucking get to it. Why the fuck had dad thought it was a good idea to leave him behind? He should have just burned Dean and been done with it.

He's not going to burn Sam. Because that'd mean Sammy would be truly, utterly, completely gone, and that can't be. Haunted? Yeah, Dean'd take it. It'd be a fucking improvement. It's freezing in here, maybe... "Sammy? That you?"

Of course there's no answer. Because Dean would give anything for it to be true. So naturally he doesn't get it. Anyway, Sam doesn't need to haunt Dean. He's perfectly adequate at obsessing about this (perhaps the only thing he doesn't fail at), no ghost needed to keep him from moving on. On where?

Dean knows what's going to happen. He'll be gone himself soon, too. Oh God, he wants to curl around Sammy, just like when they were little. And hopefully turn to dust. The only reason he doesn't is because, like this, he can squint and almost pretend Sammy's just asleep, every now and then. He got kidnapped. He's entitled to a nap. If he touched him...the illusion would shatter.

Before he can decide if it's worth it, if he'll just die a dog's death, like these pets who lie down on their owner's grave and – stop. Stop existing. That'd be so nice. Sure he could just shoot himself right now, but that'd actually be doing something, and he doesn't get to. Not when he didn't manage to do a damn thing the only time it mattered.

Bobby's back, which is just stupid of him. With fried chicken. As if Dean could eat. As if he deserves to eat. Sammy's not going to eat, not anymore, and if Dean'd just – skipped dinner, for once, Sam would never have been kidnapped. Not like he can explain any of this. Not like it matters.

Stupidly, he remembers another of the demon's kids. "Nothing says I'm sorry like a tuna casserole." Or a KFC bucket, apparently. And Dean had promised Sammy that nothing bad was gonna happen to him then, and look at him now.

At least Bobby has good news. Because if the apocalypse is happening? That's good. The world has already ended, after all. Dean's world lies dead on that awful mattress. So if the rest of the world plans to catch up? Dean's so not going to try and stop it. If all goes well, destruction will wash over him in a short while. No need to do anything but wait.

Bobby figures out it's best to disappear, finally. Dean – spirals. The air hurts his lungs. Everything hurts. Just not enough, because nothing would be enough anyway. Sammy – and Dean didn't – can't – what is he supposed to do?

Suddenly, a beeping startles Dean out of his self-recrimination. His phone – what the hell does his phone want? The alarm is so stupid. Because there's nothing worth getting up for anymore. He still mechanically checks it, because of course, and – it's midnight. It's midnight and Sam's birthday. Sam didn't even get to be 24. He'll never be Dean's current age. He'll never even be Dean's age when he came to drag his baby brother away from Stanford. There's no one for Dean to wish happy birthday to. He should be leading Sam to the closest bar right now. Get him drunk, tease him about being such an absurd lightweight when he's a giant. Maybe find a girl to push him towards, because damn, his baby brother doesn't pull nearly enough. A total waste of good looks on a normal day, truly. But surely he could be talked into celebrating with an orgasm, and if Dean has to pick for him, so be it.

Instead Sam's dead, but he can't be dead, he can't be when Dean's alive. It doesn't work that way. Maybe that's what started the apocalypse Bobby mentioned. Some fundamental law of the universe broken, the rest immediately starts to fall apart too. But Dean failed, so what the hell is he supposed to do? Well... the hell. There's one thing Dean can do, maybe. One single thing worth doing. Follow in dad's footsteps, as ever. Dean rushes to the nearest crossroads.

Sam doesn't realize it's his birthday. Priorities, you know? Trying to figure out Yellow Eyes' plan. Failing to stop it. (Things don't entirely go the demon's way, luckily, but still – so many evil things fleeing hell.) Dean killing fucking Yellow Eyes. Dean being shifty as all hell, so Sam needs to push for the truth, the horrible, sickening truth. The deal.

Sam's unclean, Sam has demon blood, and even if he couldn't tell his brother, you'd think Dean would have more sense than that. Sam was always supposed to be put down, saving him was a nebulous, elusive prospect. That someone else took the responsibility off him should have been a relief.

Instead Dean...Deaned, really. It's so terrifyingly, achingly him, to sacrifice himself for Sam. Sam who's living on a countdown now, too, a noose around his throat, tightening incrementally every day, every hour, every second. He needs to fix this. One way or another, it doesn't matter, it can't come true.

It comes true, before the deadline, even, and that's not fair. It comes true hundreds of times, in hundreds of ways, and more than a few times Sam wonders if maybe he never resurrected. If Azazel dragged him down to hell. It'd make sense, that this is Sam's hell. Why waste time ripping him apart when they can make him wish they had?

And then it's Wednesday, and Dean dies – again – and he doesn't come back, and nothing matters. Trickster, hell, who cares. He's been robbed, robbed of months of Dean's smiles and bad jokes and working through his bucket list. It doesn't matter what he wants, Sam'd let him - no, would help him – commit the most heinous crimes. Because nothing out of a true (or magically-aided, or even full fantasy anime) crime documentary can be half so revolting as Dean just. Being. Gone.

Something's gonna pay for it. This can't continue, can't – there must be a way to fix it, to undo it, to... Because otherwise Sam has nothing else to do but rip himself apart, and he's not going to until he's exhausted all other avenues first. And if said avenues include killing things, well. They should have known better. Nobody, nobody can take Dean from him and expect the world to be unscathed. He still does what Dean would have wanted. Sticks to monsters to take his agony out on. But he just might clean out the world of all of them, and if the trickster doesn't undo his stunt, just keep...going...after. He's a monster, after all. Demon blood.

Apparently, the trickster sees it, too. Enough to give him Dean back. To send him back, and does that mean that this year slipping through his fingers has turned into two? Well, almost two, but six months...six months of loss. He doesn't even know if he should be grateful for the extra Tuesdays, as hellish as they were, in some twisted way.

All he knows is that he's lost Dean once, and he can't do it again. He can't. He needs a way to stop it. If it includes turning into a monster, fine. (It's not fine with Dean. Dean isn't a monster, not like Sam, so of course he balks at the idea. Ok. They'll find something else. He'll listen to Ruby, he'd listen to Yog Sothoth if it appeared with a plan to keep his brother alive.)

One thing to do. Just one. Save his brother, like Dean saved him more times than they both can count. And Sam still fails at it. One year to find a way, and nothing. Dean ripped to shreds by an invisible monster. Lilith gloating. Sam...Sam's useless, and when it looks like she'll finish him, too, that's okay. That's more than okay. Buy one get one free, the Winchester boys come at a discount.

And then her energy ray or whatever washes over him, and nothing. And Sam's more than interested in ripping her apart back, but she's smoked out before he can do anything. Again.

Alone with a mangled dead body. He'll drag the both of them away from that nice home, bury him somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Bury, because even now, things haven't changed. He'll fix this, like he fixed the Trickster situation. One way or another, he'll bring his brother back. He has to. If Bobby even thinks about burning Dean, about sending him definitely beyond Sam's reach, Bobby is going to be in need of a pyre himself. The old man sees that Sam's not joking, and retreats, wary, keeping his eyes on him.
Magic is real. Demons are prowling at every crossroads. Nothing is impossible. Sam just needs to find the right spell, the right offer, the right...something. Then Dean will be alive, and Sam, probably, dead. But it's not like he'd notice the difference.

He thinks way too long about Lilith. Why she couldn't do him in. (That would have been a kindness. It'd be the only gift he would ask for. They should have gone together. He got enough of dad and Dean leaving him behind when he was a tween. No more. This wasn't supposed to happen.)

They'd gotten so scared about Croatoan, but with his new knowledge, of course he'd be immune. Demonic rage? That's his fucking baseline. Obviously the virus didn't affect him. No discernible variation between before and after.

And then Lilith tries to kill him, too, after taking Dean from him, and she can't. Maybe because she went at him with her powers rather than a good old physical weapon. The energy ray, whatever it was, washed over the wall Sam was pinned against, not leaving so much as a dent in it. Maybe, with Dean dead, it couldn't recognize Sam as a living creature, either. His humanity already lost, probably followed his brother downstairs. Sam's a thing, now. A broken, shattered thing that you can still open your wrists on, if you're not careful.

He'll bring Dean back, sure, one way or another. But if he finds Lilith again? She might just regret not letting him tag along today.

Then Dean does come back, no thanks to him. (Sam's still not good enough. He never will be. Angels are sneering at him now, but frankly? It doesn't matter. Nobody can say anything worse than what he's already thinking. It's not going to stop him anyway.)

Not like they'd ever been big on celebrations – no money, no friends, no anything except each other, really – but they stop acknowledging Sam's birthday after that. And it suits him just fine. At first, it's an accident. Turns out that detoxing from demon blood doesn't lend itself to fun, to no one's surprise.

Then, well, there's always one apocalypse or another, or so it feels, actually. More often than not, it's his fault in some way. Why would anyone want to – even smile at the idea that Sam was born? Dean makes enough allowances. If Sam's a little extra clingy, it goes unmentioned. Possibly even unnoticed, because it's not like they aren't in each other's space all the time. And yes, he knows there's no reason to, he's just being stupid, but he can't help the instinct to guard Dean. Like something's gonna snatch him again. He can't stand Asia, either, and never will. Little things that his brother lets him get away with. It's already more than he deserves.

It doesn't help that he does get the closest thing to an actual birthday in almost ever when Dean's gone. Again. In Purgatory, and Sam didn't even know, couldn't make himself look into it when it seemed so similar to Lucifer's murderous party trick, only even stronger. If Dean and Cas were together in heaven, well, surviving was clearly his punishment.

He can't quell the anxiety, sickening in his gut, the shadow of loss. He's attached himself to a girl, desperate for a raft to keep himself afloat, and it'd just be poetic to lose her today, wouldn't it? But no, she's not dead, she's not been taken from him (not yet). She's – surprising him, and sure, aim accomplished. She doesn't expect him to be that baffled, true. Or break a little more than he already is. (He'll tell her, later, cocooned against reality, that Dean died today. Lucky him, he hadn't ever given her a precise timeline, so she's unable to make some calculations and wonder exactly how many times Dean died.)

Later, he'll convince himself that he wants that. A chance at normal life. Someone who smiles at him, like it's right. When it was always because she didn't know. She didn't know anything. Got the carefully curated version of truth (lies, lies, all lies...where he's not a monster; not guilty; not useless). Not that it matters. Because Dean's back, again (no thanks to Sam, as ever). So what if he tells himself that he should want that opportunity, until he can almost believe it. To the point where he can make himself look into finding normalcy, as if he was 18 and naive still. When the die is cast, Sam'll always, always fall right by Dean's side. He can give up anything but his brother.

That's a lesson he's not going to forget anytime soon. He has lost Dean too many times - one'd be too many already, truly - and now? Alive or dead, it doesn't matter, so long as they're together. If it ever comes to saving the world or saving Dean, Sam knows which one he'd pick. He's a monster, yes. Dean's. So long as his brother is there, Sam'll be as good as he can be. He so hates to disappoint his brother.

And then, the ever-turning apocalypse wheel breaks. That's what happens when you manage to swap the God whose plans have ruined your life (but you ruined his plans, so, weird sort of compensation) for the kid you accidentally adopted. Jack's many things, but a gentle soul above all. He won't try to drive the universe to its destruction, or theirs, whichever came first.

And before Sam knows it, it's May 2nd again. And Dean smiles at him. "You know, Mrs. Butters was a wake up call."

What? That was months ago, and frankly, it didn't last that long. The half-maternal, half-insane nymph should be back in her woods now, and even her tenure in the bunker seems barely a blip when so many more momentous things have happened.

Sam must look as confused as he feels, because Dean says, "We did skip a damn lot of celebrations along the years."

Oh, yes. She decided to get them caught up on everything. It was weird, but hey, Sam definitely wasn't complaining then.

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter. I get it. Honestly, I was playing along more for Jack's sake than anything. He deserved better than what we managed to do for him. "

"Yeah, but he's not here now...and can give himself anything, anyway. I'm not sure you actually get it, though. "

"I do. I do, I promise. Just - don't make me say it." He's pathetic. Fucking begging.

Dean's frowning, now. What was that about not being a disappointment? He's barely awake and he's already failing. "Sam..." It's half gentle, half a warning.

Fine. He'll say it, so they can put this behind them and move on. "Look, you don't - have to - say anything, do anything, or whatever other 'ought' she got in your brain. It's okay. I know. Today's a net negative."

"What?" Dean sounds...shocked, or maybe angry, or both, but why? He should know better than anyone else.

"You can't argue with that. Everything would be better if I just...wasn't." Without the pair complete, Chuck wouldn't have had a reason to hone in on them. And that's without even going into detail about everything that Sam destroyed, ruined and killed by...existing in the general area, it feels sometimes. Especially his brother's life.

"Baby boy," and oh god, he hasn't heard that endearment in...several lifetimes, it seems, and he could cry with the gentleness of it. "You telling me that the apocalypse world was better?" Soft, soft teasing.

"We didn't exist there." He's got a point. He isn't sure what made his brother this...fond today (it can't really have been the nymph, can she?), but he hasn't forgotten what he is, and what he deserves, and that's important. "If it was just me..." Everything would be okay. Well, maybe not everything, that's a tall order, but...the important things. People. Dean should know. Should understand, even if Sam can't even look at him right now.

Dean doesn't answer, not properly. He just can't hold in the wounded animal sound that comes from his core. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. Today was... was supposed to be nice. They were free of Chuck's crazy prodding, and Mrs. Butters really reminded Dean...he hadn't meant to stop spoiling Sammy. It's just, every time he even thought about setting up a reminder, he had to fight the urge to be sick. And without one, especially with a life like theirs, it was too easy for the exact date to slip by. There are whole months Dean couldn't tell you what happened, except that they were rushing around, desperate to fix whatever the tragedy of the year was. (Their lives suck.)

But now they're free, and...new beginnings and all. And Sam had smiled so sweetly during Mrs. B.'s holiday phase, so Dean had – not created a reminder, he couldn't have, but started checking the date daily. That'd work. And no, he wasn't going to forget exactly on the right day, even if with his luck, it wouldn't be weird if he did.
Now, does he know that his brother's been wounded, deep and often enough (because Dean couldn't protect him) that a lot must have festered in time? Sure. But they'd arrived to their happy ending. Sort of. And with all the misconceptions to hold onto, to think that Dean, alone...ridiculous. That's just fucking ridiculous. Like expecting earth to thrive without the sun. Dean's just happy that Jack was there to make the mantle of god and keep the sun running, because as much as Sam would have been fitting, he'd go mad if his brother disappeared on him.

Speaking of mad, look, he didn't mean to laugh after that...that was probably a wail, actually. He must sound like he's lost his last marble. But well. "Just you gone?" he says, when he can finally get his breathing under control. "What would I be alive for, huh?" Sam on his own, okay, yes, that could work. Has worked, as much as Dean hated it. Feared it, really, because what if his brother decided to shrug him off like a burden he was tired of? But Dean on his own, without a counterpoise? He'd be crushed to death by the weight of his own pointlessness.

"Dean." Sam's staring at him, which is a progress, but he looks worried (of course he does, Dean's having a breakdown and that so wasn't the plan).

"Nevermind. I'm good, I promise. I'll be, as long as you don't say stupid shit like universe would collapse without you in it. You can ask Jack later, if you want, but I know." He does. Intimately. And the kid might not want to intervene, but maybe he'll make an exception to confirm the obvious truth Sam somehow seems to have missed. "I just wanted to make today nice," he mumbles. Maybe he should just stop making plans. "What do you want, huh? Come on, anything. Not an offer I'll make often."

A beat, and then. "I've been thinking." When isn't he, really. "About Rowena. And Ketch." Which, okay, isn't the cheeriest thing maybe, but Dean's waiting to see where this goes. "I mean, her books have to contain the spell. I'm no witch, but it should be possible anyway. And you're going to let me apply it to you...the resurrection thing, you know."

"If you get it too," Dean retorts. Look, he's not stupid. There might be no more apocalypses, but they're still hunting. He might hate witches in general, with their bodily fluids everywhere, and Ketch isn't the person he'd quote first if asked for a role model. But he's not turning off an extra life. Rowena left Sam her books because she knew his baby brother was genius enough to figure them out.

"Sure," Sam nods. And if Dean follows him around, even if he's useless at first, when Sammy has his nose inside a book or a dozen, or wanders through storage rooms mumbling to himself... The kid's cute, okay? (Still a kid to Dean. Always cute, no matter how old they get. He doesn't make the rules, just sees what's in front of him.)

Lucky them, they have everything, and the spell doesn't require a moon phase or eclipse or anything weird, so two hours, a bunch of Latin and some spilled blood later, they're both done. No more worries about dying...at least until they use it up and need to do it again.

"Thanks," he says, "though really, this was more along the lines of work or - well, it shouldn't count as a gift. You've done everything! So, Sammy? What can I actually do?"

Sam smiles, soft, and says, "You know, I can't actually think of anything right now. It's not like I had a wishlist or...I can stop worrying. That's a lot."

And Dean gets it, of course he does. But it's unacceptable.

"There must be something fun you want. Even if it involves French movies or..." he shrugs.

Sammy laughs, and honestly? Dean needed it. His brother happy.

"If you don't say anything, i'll have to pick, and you know. It could be risky."

Sam's shudder is so minute that someone else might not even notice (Dean does his best to never miss a thing). It doesn't look like fear, though, or revulsion. He knows how his brother gets when he's pushing down bad shit. Which means...did he like the offer?

"You might as well," (oh, he did) "I have a...history of wanting the wrong thing anyway."

Any other day, Dean would talk himself out of it. Because it is wrong, because it should make his brother run and not turn back forever and ever, because it doesn't matter what he thinks he sees in Sam's kaleidoscopic eyes, he's just deluding himself.

But there was an inflection in that last sentence of his brother's, and he's going out on a limb. If it goes wrong, he'll claim it's prank or a lesson (careful what you wish for, agree to, whatever) or something. But if it's not demon blood Sammy was talking about. If they could have this.

Dean kisses him. Pecks, really, butterfly soft, and gone before Sam can react - too stunned.

His hand goes to lips Dean wants to capture again, and he croaks, "What was that?" But there's no outrage in it, no disgust. Only surprise, and maybe a smidge of fear, but it's not like Dean isn't panicking himself right now.

"That was me, picking something fun." He can still twist it into a joke, can still save himself. Save them both.

"Don't start what you can't finish." There's the shadow of a growl in Sam's voice, and his brother is coming at him, and honestly, Dean always liked too much when Sammy grabbed the reins.

"Wasn't planning to," he breathes, against Sam's lips. He's no tease. Birthday boy can have anything he wants.