Now you're here, I'll warn you this is a (cue ominous voice) Death Fic which is rated for the grim themes. I don't normally do death fics – but this one just wouldn't leave me alone. It didn't start out as a death fic but along with 'Blood Stains' I'm clearly all about the happiness at the moment. All mistakes are my own and there are probably quite a few as I rattled this out in between baby naps and shopping trips.

I'm so writing a humour story next time...

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own the boys or Supernatural. Life can be mean sometimes.

'Belated' Happy Birthday Sam. Sorry this comes a little late.

Sam's Birthday Gift

Happy Birthday Sammy. You're one year old today. Your mommy burned above your crib and daddy's finally found himself something to help fill the gaping void she left behind, something which eases his devastation and helps soothe the ache in his chest. Daddy hunts now and he either doesn't want or he's just too damn preoccupied, to let a new woman come into his life. So it's just you, daddy and Dean. No mommy. No gentle smile and sweet scent which is exactly like a spring morning immediately after a rain shower.

You spend your birthday at Pastor Jims' place. Dean is excited and his happiness is always infectious so pretty soon, you're excited too. With Pastor Jim's help, Dean makes you a birthday card. The crayon drawing on the front is a dinosaur; it looks like something scary which your daddy would love to put a bullet in. You don't understand what birthdays are so you simply giggle when Dean sings "Happy Birthday" to you and the giggle becomes a full blown belly laugh when he lifts you up into the air, swinging you in a huge circle above his head. Later he holds your hand to help you toddle around the bedroom and all the attention you get makes it a great day even though someone is missing from all the fun and games.

You fall asleep on Dean's lap when he reads you a story. The words don't make any sense to you but the colourful pictures are nice to look at and Dean's voice as comforting as any lullaby.


Happy Birthday Sammy. You're sixteen years old today. You wake up not knowing where you are except that you're somewhere high up in the Colorado mountains. The setting is beautiful. A gentle breeze keeps the air cool despite the unrelenting blazing sun. When you left the cabin to go hunting you left in pitch-black darkness with dad out front and Dean trailing behind, watching your back as always, but now it's daybreak and you're all alone. Laid out on the dewy grass you stare towards the heavens and watch birds sore in a cloudless sky. After awhile you close your eyes and sleep takes you away.

When you open your eyes again, dad is carrying you. You want to argue that you're a man, that you don't need to be carried like a baby but instead you rest your head against his shoulder. Your face is pressed into the hollow of his neck and in amongst your deep breaths you catch a scent...not of a spring morning but rather a musky smell of spent gunpowder and dried sweat. It still smells good to you.

Dean doesn't give you a birthday card this year but he spends the day sat by your side. Dean's twenty, positively brimming with self-confidence and a tad curt with you at times, but as dad stitches your wounds Dean takes your hand and holds it tight. His face is sad and he doesn't rag at you for being a girl when you squeeze his hand right back and tears leak from the corners of your eyes. The pain in your stomach doesn't seem so bad now you have Dean to cling to. "Happy birthday Sammy." Dean whispers but you don't hear him or the way his voice cracks on the words.


Happy Birthday Sammy. You're twenty-three years old today. Your girlfriend burned above your bed. Last year she took you to a little Italian restaurant a short walk away from your apartment. You can remember that the table cloth was red and white checks and how a small candle in the centre of the table lit her face in a soft orange glow. You shared a pizza and she groaned as you tried to steal all the slices of pepperoni from the topping. You ate the best ice cream you'd ever tasted and drank cheap white wine till your cheeks took on an inebriated glow. Towards the end of the meal the waiter brought out some coffee and sang "Happy Birthday" so out of tune it was a whole new song. She laughed then when your cheeks went red with something other than the wine. On the walk home you told her that you loved her. Your cheeks burned red once more when she kissed you fiercely and admitted she loved you too.

This year you stay in bed much later than usual. Around noon Dean prods at you with his foot until you finally roll out from under the covers and slouch off towards the bathroom.

Dean gives you an odd look when you insist on going out to pick up an espresso. You know it's a lame thing to do and it tastes nowhere near as good as the one you drank to finish off your meal a year ago. But the caffeine makes you feel more like a human being again and the strong bitter liquid brings back memories. The old memories hurt like a new cut but they're happy memories so you don't really care.

Dean asks if you want take out and you're glad when he agrees to go for pizza. Dean smacks the back of your hand when you try to steal all the pepperoni. When he nips to the bathroom to take a leak, you smirk and shove the last piece into your mouth anyway.


Happy Birthday Sammy. You're twenty-four years old today. You awoke with congealed blood sticking to the back of your jacket and to the dirty torn mattress you'd been sleeping on. Dean gave you the best birthday present he could this year. This year Dean gave you your life but you don't say thank you and you're far from being grateful. In fact, if Dean had gotten a receipt, you'd have taken the gift back.

At night in your motel room you sit with Dean, both of you downing one cold beer after another; as though you're trying to drink Budweizer out of business. After your fifth beer Dean goes outside to the Impala and brings back a chocolate chip muffin which he shoves under your nose. "Happy Birthday Sammy. All the shops were closed so I couldn't get a candle." You look up at him and he's holding out a cigarette lighter, the flickering flame dancing wildly. "Make a wish Sam."

Taking a closer look at his face you can see his eyes clearly for the first time all night. The left pupil is blown. Concussion, great. You kick yourself for not checking Dean for a concussion earlier but you're drawn out of your self condemnation when you notice the flame is starting to scorch Dean's thumb so you blow out the flame and there's only one wish you can think of to make.

You give Dean a couple of Advil and, ignoring his befuddled declarations of love for Twinkies and— for pink flamingos, you tuck him in for the night. You know full well you'll not be getting any sleep. You have a lot of research to do, there's a certain deal you want to find a loophole for and you'll have to wake Dean in an hour to make sure he's not had his brain rattled too severely when he headbutted that gravestone. "Sorry I didn't get you a present Sammy." Dean mumbles as he rolls onto his side and buries his face into the pillow.

You smile and shrug even though he's not looking. "You shot the demon Dean, which kinda makes that the best birthday present ever." Dean falls asleep with a smile on his lips and you spend the night searching for answers, praying you'll find one before you turn twenty-five. A little before dawn you fall asleep hunched over your laptop. You dream, strange dreams of a possessed janitor with yellow eyes, dead on the ground and draped in birthday ribbons topped off with a cute blue bow.


Happy Birthday Sammy. You're twenty-five years old today. You drink straight whisky for breakfast and try to ignore the way your hands are shaking badly enough to make the glass clink against your teeth.

The Hell Hounds came for Dean at just turned midnight, 12:01am to be precise. A few hours and several unanswered cell phone calls later and Bobby starts banging on the motel room door. He stands outside the room, in the rain, for almost an hour and curses a blue streak when you still don't open the door. You hear him leave a little later and peer through the curtains to watch him, still cursing as he walks away. He stops by his truck and turns to look back at your room; you jump out of sight, letting the heavy curtains slip closed. You can't see Bobby anymore but you hear him say that he'll be back in the morning and you should get some sleep. Sleep is the last thing you want and sorry Bobby but you won't be here in the morning.

You could live; you know you could be strong and carry on the fight. But at what price? The only thing you're certain of is that it's a price you're not prepared to pay. You just want to be with Dean and before today is over, you'll be standing at his side again. This isn't what Dean would want for you. He sacrificed his soul in exchange for your life but this is your birthday, you're the one making the birthday wish.

The loaded gun feels heavy in your hands and the bullet isn't wrapped in pretty patterned paper but it's still a gift you're going to give yourself nevertheless. Happy Birthday Sammy.


Sorry, I'm a real barrel of laughs today. Please review, they make me smile.