Title: Sam's Gift

Rating: K+ for fluffy brother cuteness

Disclaimer: What's theirs is theirs, what's mine is mine - it's as simple as that.

Summary: It's Dean's birthday and Sam hasn't forgotten.

Spoilers: Up through 4x12, Criss Angel is a Douche Bag.

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAN WINCHESTER!! This is just a short drabble to honor Dean's 30th birthday!! WOOT!


The driver's door to the Impala slammed in the cold night air and Dean trudged wearily to the motel door. It had been one hell of a year. Death, destruction, reincarnation, angels, - Dean sighed as his mind drifted across Anna's memory - and one hell of a demon problem on their hands. Not to mention the impending Apocalypse. It was enough to make any sane man crazy, and Dean Winchester was far from sane.

To make matters worse, he was also, as of eight twenty-three that evening, thirty years old.

Slipping his key into the cold lock, Dean shuddered. The thought of turning sixty was awful, but thirty was just as bad. He was halfway there. Maybe Sam had some sense in what he said about not wanting to be in the Life as an old man. After all, look what had happened to Travis. Did Dean really want that?

With a grunt of conviction, he twisted the small bit of metal, shaking his head against dangerous thoughts. There was no point in the might's and maybe's… Dean had learned that a long time ago. It was better to keep doing what he was doing and be confident that it was enough.

It was all he could do.

He pushed into the room, shutting the door quickly to keep out the chill. At the small, ugly table, Sam looked up from his research, hazel eyes wide in that puppy-dog stare that set Dean's teeth on edge. Getting old was one thing - having Sam mother-hen him all the time was killing him. He had had to twist Sam's arm to keep his little brother from pulling any birthday surprises - Dean didn't feel much like celebrating after the magician case. Sighing, he pulled off his jacket and threw it on his bed, making his way to the bathroom. "Anything new in the news?" he called over his shoulder, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush.

"Nothing yet. But I'm still looking," Sam's voice trailed off and Dean rolled his eyes, assuming Sam had been distracted by some fascinating article online. "Dude, stay with me," he teased around minty foam, smirking at his rabid dog appearance in the bathroom mirror. "Have you seen anything remotely interesting?"

"No." Dean jumped a mile when Sam's voice sounded from two inches behind his right ear. He spat out the rest of the toothpaste and death-stared at his brother in the mirror. "Don't do that."

Sam smirked. "Sorry." He reached for his own toothbrush. "What are you doing here, Dean? I figured you would be out with some random girl by now."

"Hmm, why's that?" Dean watched as Sam meticulously spread minty paste along the bristles of his toothbrush and made a mental note to get his brother checked for OCD.

Sam's silence made Dean look up and their eyes met in the bathroom mirror. "Because it's your birthday," Sam said quietly, popping the brush into his mouth immediately afterwards. He watched Dean's face go cloudy and considered using the motel hairdryer as a defense mechanism.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Dean deflated. It was so quick and sudden that Sam almost missed it, but, being Sam, he didn't and he froze. He watched Dean pick absently at some dirt under his fingernails. "I don't know, man," Dean said, so quietly that Sam could barely hear him, "I just don't feel much like celebrating passing time."

Sam nodded even though his brother wasn't looking. "I guess that makes sense," he said casually, going back to the attention-grabbing activity of brushing his teeth.

Looking up from his nails, Dean glanced at Sam in the bathroom mirror before turning and making his way back into the room.

Sam managed maybe three brush strokes before "SAM!" rang throughout the room and he smiled around the toothbrush. "Yeah?" he called innocently, spitting out the foam.

"Get your abnormally tall ass in here."

Putting down the brush and shutting off the light, Sam cautiously stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes fixed on where Dean stood at the foot of his bed, glaring at the brown-paper wrapped package on the fugly motel coverlet. He glanced up as Sam came into the room, but soon returned his attention to the present, for indeed that's what it was.

"The hell is this?"

Sam sighed and sat on his bed, facing Dean and the package. "Open it, Dean."

"Dude, I told you not to do anything."

"Dude, I didn't. I got you something. Difference."

The dead-pan annoyed frustration Dean shot him was Oscar-worthy, but Sam didn't flinch. He calmly raised one eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the object. "Dude, it won't kill you. Just open it."

Slowly, almost as if he was expecting it to bite him, Dean reached for the package and tentatively ripped away the paper. A bright yellow and black book stared up at him and he choked on his own spit.

Healthy Aging for Dummies.

"I just figured, with our chosen career path and all, that a little help would be very much appreciated," Sam muttered, not meeting Dean's eye when the oldest Winchester looked up for an explanation.

Dean looked back down at the book in his hands. He wasn't much for reading, and Sam knew that, but that wasn't what the book was about. It was about the fact that, whether they kept in the Life or were granted some peace in their old age, Sam expected them to grow old. His little brother was making a silent vow to do so if Dean did. It was something they had been doing since childhood.

The smile started small but eventually turned into a full out grin and Dean couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, Sammy," he chortled, throwing the book down on the coverlet. He looked over at the blinding smile on his brother's face and shook his head. "You're gonna be one hell of a pain in the ass to grow old with, Sam…

"But I'm glad you're growing old with me."