Happy Birthday Dean!
Jan. 24th, 2024 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
For Snowflake #11 and
fandom_empire, in honor of Dean's birthday today.

Either you age, or you die. Nothin’ special about it. That’s what Dean said whenever Sam tried to plan some kind of birthday celebration for him. So Sam stopped telling Dean there was a plan at all.
Instead, he’d figure out a sneaky way to get the keys, and he’d drive Baby to the closest lake that he’d found on his phone. He’d feign fatigue, saying he just wanted to take a break. He’d make Dean help him get out the cooler, which Sam had stocked earlier that morning with beer he knew Dean liked.
Dean would act like he didn’t know what Sam was doing. He would pretend he didn’t know exactly why they were pulling off the road to sit together, side by side. And then he would act surprised when Sam got the box of diner pie from the backseat that he’d saved since that morning, forks at the ready. Dean sometimes even let Sam sing him happy birthday, if he wasn’t feeling overly morose.
In Sam’s estimation, birthdays were a chance for reflection. It was important to realize what they nurtured the past year, what they had let grow in the place of the weeds and tangled vines that sometimes threatened to take over their scarred and bruised bodies.
Dean was a different person than he’d been ten or even five years ago. Before, Dean’s heart had been locked underground, buried so deep under layers of dirt that sometimes it was impossible for Sam to reach him.
Now, Dean let the light in. Flowers started growing through the cracks, a certain delicate happiness taking root in all of the places Dean was accepting of himself.
Sam loved him more for all that effort. He knew rebuilding yourself wasn’t easy work.
But Sam would nurture those flowers, that growth, however he could. He would take notice. He would celebrate the life Dean had built. One diner pie and one beer at a time.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)

Either you age, or you die. Nothin’ special about it. That’s what Dean said whenever Sam tried to plan some kind of birthday celebration for him. So Sam stopped telling Dean there was a plan at all.
Instead, he’d figure out a sneaky way to get the keys, and he’d drive Baby to the closest lake that he’d found on his phone. He’d feign fatigue, saying he just wanted to take a break. He’d make Dean help him get out the cooler, which Sam had stocked earlier that morning with beer he knew Dean liked.
Dean would act like he didn’t know what Sam was doing. He would pretend he didn’t know exactly why they were pulling off the road to sit together, side by side. And then he would act surprised when Sam got the box of diner pie from the backseat that he’d saved since that morning, forks at the ready. Dean sometimes even let Sam sing him happy birthday, if he wasn’t feeling overly morose.
In Sam’s estimation, birthdays were a chance for reflection. It was important to realize what they nurtured the past year, what they had let grow in the place of the weeds and tangled vines that sometimes threatened to take over their scarred and bruised bodies.
Dean was a different person than he’d been ten or even five years ago. Before, Dean’s heart had been locked underground, buried so deep under layers of dirt that sometimes it was impossible for Sam to reach him.
Now, Dean let the light in. Flowers started growing through the cracks, a certain delicate happiness taking root in all of the places Dean was accepting of himself.
Sam loved him more for all that effort. He knew rebuilding yourself wasn’t easy work.
But Sam would nurture those flowers, that growth, however he could. He would take notice. He would celebrate the life Dean had built. One diner pie and one beer at a time.
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